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rKECJK 30 CKrWXS 



FORTUNE DU BOISGOBEY, 


17 TO 27 VaNdeWater 3t 
'I /4 E WYoF^I^- 


v; i^cdiiia mmm, muuu ii ' i-wmiuj bv yuro 


TptlOir^oo 



THE 

New York Fireside Companion 


Essenlially a Papr for fle Homb Me. 

PURE, BRIGHT AND INTERESTING 


THE FIRESIDE COMPANION numbers among its contributors the best ( 
living fiction writers. ' J 


Its Detective Stories are the most absorbing ever published, and' its sp( 
cialties are features peculiar to this journal. 


A Fashion Article, embracing the newest modes, prices, etc., byj-a note 

/ 

modiste, is printed in every number. 

, / • 

The Answers to Correspondents contain reliable* information on every cO! 
ceivable subject. , . r 



TERMS:— The New York Fireside Companion will be sent for one yeai 
on receipt of $3: two copies for $5. Getters-up of clubs can afterward ad 
single copies at $2.50 each. We will be responsible for remittances sent i 
Registered Letters or by Post-office Mone}^ Orders. Postage free. Specime 
copies sent free. . - ^ ' 

" . ' GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, - 

P. 0. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New Yorli 


THE 


0 

Prima Donna’s Husband 

\ 


/ 

By F. DU BOISGOBEY. 

h 






OEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 Vandevtater Streeit. 




THE PRIMA DONNA’S HUSBAND. 


i 

I 

CHAPTER 1. 

! The walls of the little salon are hung with silk. A bright fire is 
blazing in the grate. Heavy curtains of rich satin conceal the 
windows. 

! Without, the sleet dashes fiercely against the panes, but the cold 
does not penetrate this cozy nest, which is a fit place for the ex- 
change of lovers’ vows and tender confidences. 

In front of the fire sits a lady half buried in the depths of a large 
arm-chair, and playing listlessly wilh a Japanese screen. She is 
alone, and the subdued light of the magnificent Sevres lamp falls 
upon a face whose pallor is heightened by the black lace scarf 
which she has thrown about her head after the Spanish fashion. 

Silent and motionless she sits abstractedly watching the play of 
I the fiame, her thoughts evidently far from this charming retreat. 
Of what is she dreaming? Is she waiting for the man she loves, or 
is she troubled by a presentiment of approaching misfortune? Oc- 
I casionally she lifts her eyes, and watches the movements of the 
clock’s hands as they slowly make their way around the dial; then 
she resumes her former despondent attitude, a fit model for a 
1 statue of Despair — the mute despair of the Mater Dolorosa, whom 
the great painters of the sixteenth century have so often portrayed 
upon her knees, at the foot of the cross. 

Yet this woman is beautiful; this woman is rich; this woman 
adores her husband. 

She married him because she adored him, and in order to marry 
him she renounced the operatic stage where she had long shone as a 
star of the first magnitude. 

Her husband had nothing whatever in common with the ruined 
noblemen who repair the breaches dissipation has made in their 
fortune by means of the talent of a celebrated cantatrice. He was 
born rich, and the greater part of his patrimony was still in his pos- 
session at the time of his marriage. 

She, on her side, had made no sacrifice in relinquishing her artist- 
ic triumphs to assume a title and one of the oldest names in 
Prance; but she w'ould have married the Count de Listrac even if 
lie had been poor and of obscure origin, for she infinitely preferred 
him to all the other adorers who persistently followed in her train, 
in spite of her pitiless rebuffs. 

She had refused the hand of more than one millionaire banker. 


4 


THE PRIMA DOHHA S HUSBAND. 


and even a morganatic marriage with a royal highness from beyond 
the Rhine. 

And strangest ot all, for five years they had enjoyed unclouded 
happiness — five years which had passed like a single day. 

The daughter of a poor Italian musician, Clara Monti, had en- 
tered the highest society on a footing of perfect equality, and had 
deported herself with credit there. Indeed her talent and her con* 
duct, even more than her beauty, had given her an incontestable 
place among the women who constitute the feminine aristocracy of 
Paris. 

George de List rac, transformed by conjugal love, renounced his- 
former habits; the leaders of the demi monde seemed to have for- 
gotten him; he no longer played heavily, and was rarely seen at 
the club. He still loved horses, and he had acquired a fondness for 
speculation ; but he devoted to his wife all the time not engrossed 
by his horses and his business. 

It is true that be said very little to her about his stock specula- 
tions and his operations on the turf: but she had unbounded con- 
fidence in his judgment— and in his fidelity. Nevertheless, for six 
months past she had noticed that George was subject to a preoccu- 
pation, whose cause she had vainly attempted to discover. George 
himself declared that she was mistaken, and had put her misgiv- 
ings to flight more than once by a tender kiss or caress: but the 
present year had begun badly. The count seemed more and more 
preoccupied, and often appeared to lose himself entirely in his 
gloomy reflections. Not unfrequently he spent entire evenings 
without saying a single word, and when Clara gently questioned 
him, he replied like a man suddenly aroused from a dream. 

At a loss to account for this evident depression, Clara had finally 
begun to ask herself if he had not fallen under the thrall of one of 
his old sweethearts, and as she was too proud to disclose these sus- 
picions she sufi;ered in silence. 

But that very day she had received a visit from one of her hus- 
band’s relations, an exceedingly plain-spoken and uncharitable 
dowager, who had insinuated to Clara that she would do well to 
watch George more closely, as he was paying marked attention to a 
handsome widow, who was considered by no means indifferent to 
him, and had endangered his fortune by some very rash specula- 
tions. A failure to meet his obligations was predicted on every 
side, and this excellent Marquise de Marvejols had called expressly 
to warn Clara of the twofold misfortune that threatened her: deser- 
tion and financial ruin. 

Clara had dryly replied that she was sure of her husband’s devo- 
tion, and that pecuniary losses troubled her very little. Neverthe- 
less, in her secret heart, she was very uneasy. George had left her 
about noon, and at seven o’clock she received a short note, only a 
couple of lines, in which he begged her not to wait dinner tor him. 

It was now midnight, and he had not yet returned. Where could 
he be? At the house of this fascinating widow, against whom the 
dowager had just warned her? Clara would not believe it. With 
some of his business friends? Certainly not. Business matters 
are transacted in the day-time. Could some accident have befallen 


THE PRIMA DOHKA'S HUSBAKD. 5 

t 

him? In that case he would have been brought home, or his wife 
would certainly have been summoned. 

But no letter, or even message, had been received since the brief 
note brought by a liveried footman, who must have come from some 
club or restaurant. 

The countess had ordered a footman to watch for his master’s re- 
turn and to inform her as soon as he arrived: but by half -past 
twelve her anxiety became insupportable, and thinking the servant 
might have forgotten her instructions she rang for him. 

The summons was promptly answered, and without waiting for 
his mistress to question him, the servant said: 

“ The count has not returned, but Monsieur de Mouli^res wishes 
to know if madame will have the kindness to see him.” 

‘‘Monsieur de Mouli^res, here, at this hour!” exclaimed the 
young wire. ‘‘ What can it mean?” 

‘‘ Monsieur de Mouli^res has called at my master’s request, I be- 
lieve.” 

‘‘ Shoiv him in,” said Clara, rising hastily. Under any other cir- 
cumstances she certainly would not have received at this late hour 
a man with whom she was but slightly acquainted, though he was 
very intimate with her husband. He was no favorite with her, but 
he doubtless brought her tidings of importance, and it w^as M. de 
Listrac who had sent him, so she could not refuse to see him. 

She waited for him, standing, resolved to shorten the interview as 
much as possible. 

lie entered with head erect, and a smile upon his lips, exactly as 
he would have entered a drawing-room during a five o’clock tea. 

He ivas certainly over forty, but his face bore no marks of age, 
and he dressed with such care and taste that he might still hope to 
make conquests in the feminine world. His had been numerous, it 
was said; but perhaps they were due as much to a wholesome fear 
of him as to his personal attractions. 

‘‘ Madame,” he began, after saluting the lady with a deferential 
bow, ” you will, 1 am sure, excuse me for intruding at this late 
hour w^hen 1 tell you — ” 

‘'What has happened to my husband?” cried Claia. “Is he 
badly injured?” 

‘‘ No, madame, but — ” 

“ Then why did he send you here instead of coming himself?” 

“ He did not send me, though I took the liberty of saying so, as 
this is one of the occasions when it becomes the duty of an intimate 
friend to infringe upon the proprieties.” 

“ 1 was ignorant that you were such a particular friend of Mon- 
sieur de Listrac,” said the countess, rather scornfully. “ But what 
has happened?” 

“lam surprised that you can not guess. The financial losses 
which youi husband sustained to-day are known to all Paris.” 

“ What she said w^as true, then,” murmured Mme. de Listrac, 
suddenly recollecting his relative’s warning. 

“ Then am 1 to understand that his operations at the Bourse 
have ruined him irretrievably?” she asked. 

“1 hope not; but he has been seriously afi^ected by the crash. 
George invested heavily in the Union Generate, and that went 


6 


THE PRIMA DOHHA'S HUSBAKD. 


under at noon to-day. He had seemed greatly depressed when 
he reached the club, where he found plenty of companions in afflic- 
tion, for many of his friends have been equally unfortunate.” 

Clara hung her head to conceal her emotion. The news did 
not overpower her, but she wondered why George had concealed 
his rash speculations from her, and why, after the catastrophe, his 
first thought had not been to confide his troubles to her. 

” He found plenty of company, as 1 said before,” continued the 
visitor, “ and all the victims dined tojrelher at the club. After din- 
ner they began to play cards, and they are at it still. 1 left histrac 
losing heavily, and though I tried my best to get him away from 
the table, 1 did not succeed, so 1 thought it best to come and tell 
you of his danger.” 

‘‘1 am greatly obliged to you, sir,” rejoined Clara, drawing 
herself up haughtily, ‘‘but you might have spared yourself the 
trouble of coming here in the middle of the night. My husband is 
master of his own actions, and you can hardly suppose that lam 
going to the club to prevent him from playing.” 

” I confess that I did think so. 1 do not insist upon it, of course, 
but you will realize, sooner or later, that it w^as my duty to warn 
3 ^ou. The case is an urgent one, and you alone can save George. 
To-morrow it will perhaps be too late.” 

The countess rang. When the footman made his appearance she 
turned to him quietly and said: 

” Show this gentleman out.” 

M. des Mouli^res bowed and left the room without uttering 
another word, but not without bestowing an anything but friendly 
glance upon Mme. de Listrac. 

She had managed to control herself in this man’s presence, but 
as soon as she was alone she burst into a fit of sobbing. 

‘‘ It it were only the loss of the money,” she murmured, “1 
would not mind; but he has ceased to love me. If he still loved 
me he would have told me all. He Knows that 1 am ready to sac- 
rifice all 1 possess to save him. The marquise did not deceive me. 
I have every reason to believe that he is really in love with this 
7>ladame de Benserade, about whom there has been so much gos- 
sip since her husband’s death. 1 must know; and if this be indeed 
true—” 

Clara did not finish the sentence, but her impassioned gesture ex- 
pressed more plainly than any words her firm desire to avenge her 
wrongs. 

Then reflection came. She said to herself that perhaps she ac- 
cused George unjustly, that he was guilty only of imprudence in 
business, that she ought not to condemn him without a hearing, 
much less to abanrion him, and that M. de Mouli^res’ advice was 
perhaps worth following. 

It, never once occurred to her that this man had been merely set- 
ting a trap for her in giving her this advice. She thought only of 
regaining her infiuence over her husband. 

Ringing for her maid, she said to her hastily, “ Quick, my cloak 
and bonnet!” 

” Is madame going out?” inquired the astonished servant. 

” Yes, 1 am going to meet Monsieur de Listrac at the house of 


7 


THE PKIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 

Madame de Marvejols. It is not worth while to have the horses har- 
nessed. Send Pierre for a carriage. 1 shall be back in an hour. 
You need not wait for me. 1 can undress without your assistance. 

' A Parisienne would have remained at home, knowing full well 
that the poorest of all ways to win back a recreant husband is to 
run after him; but Clara was jncapable of calculation or moderation. 
She loved as women loved in the middle ages in Florence, where 
she was born. She loved with the same intensity of tenderness and 
of jealousy; and with an ardor that would impel her to commit any 
crime if her husband deceived her. In her youth she had been 
deeply in love with a man whom she was about to marry when he 
I died a violent and mysterious death. Since that time her heart had 
i throbbed only for George de Listrac. Ten years after the tragedy 
* that had cast a gloom over her youth, she met George at Vienna,^ 
and married him three months afterward. 

After five years of wedded life her love for her husband was as 
ardent as ever. She lived only in George, and for George, and now, 
threatened with the loss of his aflection, she resolved to know her 
late. 

Ten minutes after giving her orders to her maid, Clara was roll- 
ing swiftly along through the muddy and foggy streets. She had 
left her palatial home in the middle of the night to start out in search 
of her liege lord exactly as the wife ot an humble laborer might start 
oul in pursuit of a husband who is lying half drunk in a beer-shop. 

This comparison occurred to her as she bowled swiftly along, and 
‘She said to herself that her humble sister was no more to be pitied, 
and certainly less perplexed than herself. 

Such a woman would not hesitate to enter the wine-shop and drag^ 
her husband from it, by force if necessary; but the Countess de 
Listrac could not enter the club-house and take George from the 
card-table where he was squandering his substance in fashionable 
and titled company. Hesides, what would her husband say? Would 
not his wounded pride rebel against this surveillance on her part, 
and so alienate him from her forever. 

To lose George for the sake of saving a little money. The bare 
thought of such a thing made her shudder, and more than once she 
was on the point of ordering the coachman to take her back to her 
home. 

But it was fated that she should pursue unto the bitter end the 
dangerous course upon w'hich she had so impruaentl}’- entered. Her 
jealousy regained the ascendency. The suspicion that M. de 
Moulieres had been sent by her husband to furnish a plausible ex- 
planation ot his prolonged absence occurred to her, for the count had 
dined and spent the evening at the club scarcely half a dozen times 
since his marriage. Clara felt almost certain that he was now at 
the house of Mme. de Benserade, instead ot at the club as iiis friend 
had declared. 

To convict George of falsehood, therefore, Clara had only to sat- 
isfy herself that he was not at the club, and then return home to 
wail until he should come and repeat the story invented by his ac- 
complice. 

These suppositions seemed extremely improbable, but Clara was 
no longer in a condition to reason calml3\ 


8 THE PEIHA DOHNA’s HUSBAHD. 

Besides, she had reached her destination. The carriage had 
paused near an imposing doorway, which she recognized, as George 
had once pointed it out to her, and behind four or five other vehicles 
that were standing there. 

Here Clara’s real difficulties began. Should she leave her car- 
riage, enter this brilliantly lighted vestibule, and make her wishes 
known to the footmen who were probably in waiting at the foot of 
the staircase? "V\^hat would these lackeys think to hear her ask for 
the Count de Listrac? Would they take her for a girl in search of 
her lover, or see in her a woman deceived by her husband? And if 
she should be so unfortunate as to meet one of George’s friends, 
what would he think to see her there at such an hour? 

She finally decided that the best thing she could do would be to 
make the coachman who had just descended from the box to open 
the door for her, ner messenger, so she begged him to inform the 
<ioncierge of the establishment that a lady wished to speak to M. de 
Listrac without delay. She took good care to pronounce the name 
distinctly, and even to repeat it, so there could be no possible 
mistake. 

“ All right, my little lady,” replied the coachman. “You need 
have no fears. Your message shall be faithfully delivered, and my 
horse will not move an inch. He has been in the harness ever since 
six o’clock this morning.” 

Clara watched the coachman and saw him disappear under the 
archway just as a gentleman came out with a cigar in his mouth, a 
<jane under his arm, and both hands in the pockets of his overcoat, 
the colhr of which had been turned up to protect him from the cold. 
Clara started violently, for she instantly recognized George, though 
his face was almost entirely concealed from view. 

“ 1 wronged him,” she murmured, breathless with joy. “ He was 
really at the card- table. Ah! everything else matters little now 1 
know that he is not deceiving me. 1 will run to him, throw myself 
in his arms, confess my fault and entreat him to forgive me for my 
unjust suspicions!” 

She was about to spring out upon the pavement when a thought 
suddenly deterred her. “What if he should be angry with me on 
account of my escapade?” she said to herself. “ Why should 1 
subject him to any such annoyance? It will be far better for me to 
return home in advance of him, and when the coachman comes back 
1 will tell him to take me there with all possible speed.” 

M. de Listrac, little suspecting that his wife was watching him, 
seemed to be in no haste. He had paused after walking a few steps, 
and now seemed to be gazing with strange persistency at the car- 
riages drawn up by the edge of the sidewalk. 

“ What can he be looking for?” murmured the countess, already 
becoming anxious. “ Can it be that he is looking for me? Impos- 
sible. The coachman passed him in the doorway, so George can 
not know that I am waiting for him, and yet, he is certainly coming 
this way. He must have seen me, incredible as it appears.” 

It did indeed appear incredible, the more so from the fact that the 
carriage stood in the shadow, behind a coupe drawn up almost 
directly under a street lamp a little further on. 

Clara looked out, and saw a woman’s hand daintily gloved sud- 


THE PlilMA DONi^A's HUSBAND. 9 

denly extended from the open window of this coupe, and waved as 
if tor a signal. 

There was no longer any possible room for doubt. This gesture 
explained the movements ot the Count de Lislrac, who now hastened 
toward the vehicle with the quick step of a lover eager to join his 
divinity. 

Clara was wounded to the heart. All her recent illusions van- 
ished, and the shock was so severe that though she felt a wild desire 
I to spring into. the carriage, and throw herself between George ana 
I her rival, her voice failed her, and she had not even strength to 
move. 

George advanced without noticing the shabby hackney coach at 
the end of the line of carriages. He seemed to have eyes only for 
the handsomely appointed coupe whose occupant was so evidently 
expecting him. 

The lady’s hand was withdrawn after it had pressed his, and after 
the interchange of a few laughing remarks, the count stepped inta 
the carriage, first giving the livered coachman an order, however. 

Clara could not distinguish the werds, but she heard the laughter, 
and the torture she endured equaled any that Dante invented for 
the wretches in his Inferno. 

Her own coachman had reappeared, and approaching the door 
just as the coupe started oft; he said: 

“ You are unlucky, my little lady. The gentleman has ,]ust left. 
He has been gone only about five rcinutes they say.” 

The man’s hoarse voice roused the countess from the torpor that 
paralyzed her movements and her will. 

“ Do you see that coupe?” she asked, brusquely. “Follow it 
until it stops. You shall have a louis if you keep in sight of it.” 

Stimulated by this promise ot a handsome reward, the coachman 
sprung upon the box and plied his whip so vigorously that the horse, 
tired as he was, started oft at a gallop. 

The coupe was not far in advance, and Clara’s coachman would 
have no difficulty in keeping up with it unless the race was a long 
one. 

It is she, 1 am certain of it,” muttered the countess, “ it is the 
unscrupulous widow who has stolen George’s heart from me. 
Where are they going? To her house probably.” 

But on reaching the boulevard the coupe turned to tlieleft. This 
was not the direction the Baroness de Benserade would lake to reach 
her residence on the Rue de Suresnes, and Clara, who was aware of 
this fact, began to feel a little hope. She might be mistaken, as she 
had not seen the lady’s face,’ and it was such a trial to her to con- 
demn George that she racked her imagination to invent some satis- 
factory explanation of his conduct. 

Finally, the coupe, after proceeding some distance down the 
Boulevard des Italieus, turned into the Rue Marivaux, and paused 
at the first door on the right-hand side. 

“ The Cate Anglais!” exclaimed Clara, in hollow tones. “ She 
has come here to sup with George! 1 will kill her!” 

From her carriage window the countess saw her husband spring 
lightly to the sidewalk, and then turn to assist his companion to 
alight. 


10 


THE PRIHA DOHKA’S HUSBAND. 


“ Is that the baroness?’^ Mme. de Listrac said to berself, gazing 
liard at lier rival, who was wrapped in a fur-lined mantle, and closely 
veiled. It was impossible to catch a glimpse either ot her face or 
her figure; besides, she passed swiftly on leaning on George’s arm, 
and in another moment they had both disappeared from view through 
the doorway of the restaurant. 

The coupe then moved oft in the direction of the Place de I’Opera, 
and the chasseur of the establishment hastened up to open the door 
of the carriage in which poor Clara sat, desperately wondering what 
she had better do, for she was utterly unprepared for this sudden 
termination of her chase. 

The chasseur, however, furnished her with the pretext she was 
vainly seeking, 

“ Madame is with that lady and gentleman, 1 presume,” he said, 
lifting his gold-trimmed cap politely. 

“Yes,” replied Mme. de Listrac. 

And without allowing herself any more time for reflection she 
hastily alighted. 

The chasseur, armed with an umbrella, escorted her to the foot of 
the staircase, called a waiter, and then hastened tack to offer his 
services to the occupants of another carriage that had just stopped 
in front of the door. 

Clara had gone too far to retreat, as she ascended Ihe stairs 
bravely. In the first landing she was met by a waiter who asked 
her the same question that the chasseur had asked. She made the 
same response, and he turning to another factotum of the establish- 
ment, said: 

“ Show this lady to the green room.” 

This waiter, however, knew his business, and surveying the 
countess with a critical eye, replied In a tone full of dignity: 

“ Pardon me, madame, but the gentleman who just came in is 
expecting no one.” 

“ That makes no difference,” replied Mme. de Listrac. “ 1 wish 
to see him. Go and tell him so.” 

“ I regret that 1 am unable to comply with madame’s reijuest. 
The gentleman particularly requested that he should not be dis- 
turbed upon any pretext whatever.” 

The hypocritical conduct of this subordinate irritated Clara be- 
yond endurance, and had she known where the green room was 
she would doubtless have attempted to force her way into it, but 
she soon realized that this would be a mistake, and that she would 
accomplish nothing by violence. 

“ Very well,” said she. “ Show me to a private room where 1 
can find the necessary materials for writing to this gentleman. You 
can then take him my letter, and see it he does not answer my 
summons.” 

The waiter hesitated. He had been employed at the Cafe Anglais 
ten years, and knew George de Listrac well. But he did not know 
that gentleman’s wife, and he w^ondered it this lady who insisted so 
strongly upon seeing him could really be the countess. He was 
trying to devise some means of satisfying the lady without com- 
promising an old patron of the house w^hen a vigorous peal of the 


I THE PKIMA DOKHA’s HUSBAKD. 11 

* 

' bell resounded from one of the rooms opening into the same passage 
where he was parleying with the visitor. 

! This summons came from the very room in which he had installed 
i the couple ot whom the lady was in search, and the Count de 
[ Listrac, who did not like to te kept waiting, was quite capable of 
I coming out to accelerate the movements of the waiters if necessary. 

I A scene must be prevented at all hazards, and the shrewd waiter 
thought it advisable to guard against it by ushering the lady into a 
, private room without delay. 

As he turned to do so a gentleman who had Just ascended the 
stairs found himself face to face with the countess. 

“ You here, madame,'’ he exclaimed, hastily, doffing his hat. 

“ 1 will explain what 1 am doing here,’' the countess replied, 
forcing herself to appear calm, for though she would have avoided 
this meeting if possible it did not shake her resolution in the least. 

“ Are you alone?" she continued. 

“ Entirely alone. 1 just left the opera, and feeling hungry, the 
idea of dropping in here occurred to me. 1 congratulate myself 
upon it since it has enabled me to meet you again after so many 
years, and if 1 can be of the slightest service to you pray command 
me." 

The countess hesitated a moment, then she replied : 

‘‘Yes, you can render me a great service." 

‘‘ In what way? 1 shall be only too happy." 

“ Invite me to lake supper with you." 

‘‘ Nothing would please me better," responded the new-comer, 
now thoroughly astonished. 

The waiter, who had listened to this conversation, lost no time in 
opening a private room, and the countess hastily entered it, followed 
by her acquaintance. 

" Does madame still desire writing materials?" inquired the 
w^aiter, lighting the candles in the candelabra. 

"No, 1 have changed my mind. This gentleman will order 
supper. Now leave us." 

When the countess and her companion were left alone together 
they stood gazing at each other in silence for some time, he wonder- 
ing how this incomprehensible adventure was going to end; she, not 
knowing how to begin her explanation, and apparently waiting lor 
him to question her. 

" Are you familiar with this restaurant?" she at last asked 
brusquely. "Yes? Then you can tell me whether or not it has 
two entrances?" 

"I think not," replied the gentleman. "During the day time 
one can com© up here through the public dining-room that opens 
upon the boulevard, but at this hour that part of the restaurant is 
closed." 

" Then any person who may be taking supper here can not leave 
the establishment without passing the room in which we now are. 
That is all 1 care to know. Will you do me the favor to leave the 
door partly open?" 

He obeyed, but evidently thought she must have lost her senses 
since he saw her last. 

" Are 3 ^ou watching for some one?" he inquired. 


12 


THE PRIMA HOHHA’S HUSBAND. 


“ Yes; and 1 count upon your assistance.’' 

“ The deuce! The task you assign to me is not an agreeable one 
by any means. Before 1 promise you my aid 1 must understand — ” 

“You know that 1 am married.” 

“ 1 know that only too well. It was your marriage that made 
you leave the stage, and that blighted my most cherished hopes. 1 
have not forgotten the past, and when 1 heard the fatal news 1 
nearly died of grief and disappointment. 1 loved you so much — ” 

“ And 1 loved another. Do you know my husband?” 

Only by sight He has been pointed out to me since my return 
to Paris. I arrived here three days ago. 1 remained five years at 
St. Petersburg without once asKing for leave of absence. 1 was 
afraid to see you again, and now 1 bless the strange chance that has 
brought us together.” 

“ 1 too bless it. But for you 1 could not have remained here and 
they would have escaped me.” 

“ What do you wish me to do?” 

“ To seat yourself upon that sofa and tell me when you see my 
husband pass. He entered this restaurant a few moments ago with 
a lady, and now, thanks to you, lean remain here until they leave 
the establishment.” 

“ And then?” 

“ 1 do not know what 1 shall do; but whatever happens I shall 
be eternally grateful to you.” 

“ Can you suppose that 1 would consent to act the part of a spy? 
Besides, what can you hope to gain by such a course as you pro. 
pose? Your project is absurd. Do you think of winning Slonsieur 
de Listrac back to his allegiance by taking him publicly to task in 
the hall of a fashionable restaurant?” 

“ That is not my object. 1 desire revenge.” 

“ And how do you propose to obtain it? By stabbing him or by 
throwing vitriol in your rival’s face?” 

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a waiter who 
had come to take the order for supper. 

“ Oysters, a cold partridge, and some claret,” said Clara’s im- 
provised defender, ordering the first dishes that came into his head. 

I his rejected suitor was no count, but plain Albert Dartige, and 
he wrote the name without an apostrophe, though he had adopted 
a profession in which titles are particularly useful, for he was a 
secretary of legation. Wellborn, good-looking, and the possessor 
of an income of eighty thousand francs, he was a general favorite 
with gentlemen, and a veritable Adonis in the eyes of all ladies 
except Clara, who, by virtue of the law of contrasts, admired only 
light-complex ioned men. 

The waiter did not insist upon any additions to this rather meager 
bill of fare. He saw that supper was but a secondary consideration 
with these guests, so he hastily withdrew, closing the door behind 
him. 

This door Clara instantly opened, and then seated herself upon the 
sofa which M. Dartige seemed so little inclined to occupy. 

“ Then you still persist in your absurd idea of confronting Mon- 
sieur de Listrac when he appears?” asked M. Dartige. 

“ You need have no tears. 1 shall not compromise you,” replied 


THE PRIMA DOHISTA’s HUSBAND. 


13 


Clara, bitterly. “ There shall be no scandal here in this restaurant. 
1 shall content myself with following my husband when he leaves 
it in company with that woman. 1 shall have no further need of 
your protection then. You will be at liberty to depart, ai.:d George 
will never know that you were with me.” 

“ Do you fancy that I am afraid of him?” asked the young sec- 
I retary, drawing himself up haughtily. 

” No, but you are not interested in the matter, and I do not wish 
you to espouse my cause.” 

! “ Then you will, 1 am sure, permit me to retire, for I seem to be 

' playing a most ridiculous role here.” 

The countess did not reply. She was listening breathlessly to 
the sound of a voice from without, and trying to see through the 
half-open door what was passing in the corridor. 

Suddenly this door, yielding to the pressure of a vigorous hand, 
flew wide open, and the Count de Listrac strode into the room with 
eyes flashing, and his hat upon his head. 

Beholding this unexpected apparition, Clara rose, and M. Dartige 
stepped hastily forward in order to place himself between her and 
her incensed husband. 

The count pushed the door to with his foot, then said, coldly: 

” What are you doing here, madame?” 

“ 1 came in search of you,” replied the countess, unflinchingly. 

It is for me to question you.” 

” What do you dare to insinuate?” 

” Ask your companion. Why did yon not bring her with you. 
The explanation would have been more easy and more complete. 
This woman called for you at the club where you were waiting for 
her. Will you have the audacity to deny that? I followed you, 
and saw you enter this restaurant in company with her.” 

” 1 suspected as much, and 1 will reply to our charges W’hen you 
hare told me why 1 find you here with this gentleman. Will you 
try to convince me that you met him purely by chance on the 
restaurant staircase?” 

” That was really the ease,” interrupted Albert Dartige. ” You 
are at liberty to believe it or not, as you please; but I swear it, upon 
my word of honor as a gentleman, and 1 allow no one to question 
my veracity.” 

” And who are you, sir?” demanded the Count de Listrac, scorn- 
fully. 

‘‘ Here is my card,” replied Dartige. ” I do not need yours, for 
1 know who you are, and whenever it may please you to send your 
seconds to me you will find me ready to confer with them.” 

“You may expect them to-morrow morning, and I notice that 
you admit having given me just grounds of ofi:ense. Your pro- 
posal to tight is equivalent to a confession of guilt.” 

“ That I absolutely deny.” 

“Ah!” remarked Listrac, after examining the card, “1 now 
understand the role you* are playing here. You were acting as secre- 
tary of legation in Vienna several years ago, 1 believe.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ And madame was then singing at the Court Theater. 1 have 
heard of you, and am aware that you paid her a great deal of atten- 


14: 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


lion at the time. We hare an old account to settle, it would seem; 
and 1 am delighted to have met you. 1 regret, however, to have in- 
terrupted a tete-d-tete which you must have been seeking a long 
time. It was entirely the tault of the waiter, who informed me that 
a lady wished to see me. We will soon meet again. 1 need detain 
you no longer now.” 

Dartige felt little inclined to accept this insolent dismissal, and 
tried to think of a reply which would, in some measure, at least, 
appease his wounded pride; but the position in which he found him- 
self was so utterly false that he did not know how to get out of the 
scrape honorably. In tact, there seemed to be nothing left ior him 
bui to beat a retreat. 

The entrance of the waiter with the oysters aflorded him an op- 
portunity to retire in silence, so bowing respectfully to the countess, 
and bestowing upon the count a look that said as plainly as any 
words, “ 1 am at your service,” he withdrew. 

Clara made no attempt to detain him. Everything else was for- 
gotten in her desire to question her husband. But the waiter was 
present. 

Listrac speedily disposed of him, however. 

“We shall not take supper,” he said to him. “ Charge all that 
has been ordered to me, and send the bill to me to-morrow morn- 
ing.” 

Then, turning to his wife, he added: 

“ Come, madame.” 

Clara was ready to go, for she had not even removed her bonnet; 
but she had not foreseen this denouement. She accepted it, how- 
ever, for this was no time for discussion. 

She followed her husband down-stairs in silence; but hearing Him 
order the chasseur to call a carriage, she ventured to remark that 
she already had one, whereupon the count replied with an ironical 
smile: 

“Of course. You could not have followed me on foot.” 

Nothing can astonisn the chasseur of a fashionable Paris restau- 
rant. The one belonging to the Cafe Anglais summoned Mme. de 
Listrac’s coachman, and a moment afterward the husband and wife 
were bowling swiftly along toward their residence on the Rue de 
Monceaux. 

Neither seemed inclined to break the silence. Clara, deeply agi- 
tated, was divided between a desire to excuse her conduct, and to 
break forth into a torrent of repioaches. She was too deeply in 
love with George, to maneuver as a clever woman would have done, 
and yet she feared she would go too far if she assumed the offen- 
sive. 

George had his own reasons for being silent, so he lighted a cigar, 
and they reached their destination without exchanging a single 
word. 

Clara, disconcerted by this oppressive silence, began to think that 
she had accused her husband unjustly, and to wonder anxiously 
what she had better do She knew that he was quite capable of 
resorting to extreme measures, and she said to herself, “ If be should 
leave me I should certainly die.” 


THE PKIMA DOKlsrA^S HUSBAN’D. 


15 


“ George/' she said, timidly, as they were crossing the court-yard, 

, “ will you come with me? 1 must speak to you/’ 

! “1, too, must speak to you,” he replied. 

! Clara’s maid was still sitting up, in spite of the orders her mis- 
: tress had given her before going out. She was waiting for her in 
I the same little salon ^ where everything was ready for her reception. 

I As soon as the servant had divested her of her fur cloak and hat, 
Clara dismissd her, and again took possession of the arm chair she 
I had occupied before starting out in search of her recreant husband. 

! George had already seated himself upon a sofa on the other side 
of the fire-place. He had removed his hat, but he still retained pos- 
session of his overcoat and cane as it to indicate that his stay would 
I be brief; and the stern gaze he directed upon his wife w’as ominous 
in the extreme. 

‘‘ First of all,” he began, “ let me set your mind at rest upon one 
I point. You pretend that you did not go to the Cafe Anglais with 
i this Monsieur Dartige. But you have known him a long time; 1 
found him alone with you, and my self-respect makes it necessary 
for me to give him a lesson; consequently, 1 shall challenge him, 
and 1 hope to repay his insolence and presumption by a good sword- 
thrust.” 

” You surely will do nothing of the kind!” cried the countess. 

“ 1 most certainly shall. Now, may 1 inquire why you ventured 
to play the spy on me?” 

” 1 had been waiting tor you for hours— 1 became tired of wait- 
ing, and — ” 

‘‘ But how did you know that 1 was at the club?’* 

‘‘ Vour friend. Monsieur de Moulieres, told me so, and advised 
me to go there for you.” 

” Moulieres!” repeated George, with very evident surprise and 
annoyance. 

“Acs; he called here at midnight, announcing that he had been 
aent by you. He afterward admitted, hosvever, that he had taken 
it upon himself to warn me that you were engaged in a game that 
was likely to prove your ruin.” 

” And acting upon the advice of a man you scarcely know, you 
went to the club?” 

‘‘Yes; and just as X arrived there, 1 saw you come out of the 
club-house and enter a coupe of which a woman was the sole occu- 
pant.” 

‘‘ And you concluded, from this fact, that 1 am unfaithful to you, 
1 suppose?” 

‘‘ How can 1 help thinking so? 1 do think so, and I shall con- 
tinue to think so until you have presented irrefutable proofs to the 
contrary.” 

” So be it. 1 scorn to justify myself; but before broaching a 
much more important subject, I wish to explain my position as 
clearly as possible, and to tell you what occurred this evening. 

‘‘The lady you saw with me is the wife of a friend of mine; and 
1 have frequently met her. She was to take supper with him and 
two or three of our acquaintances, who were to meet them at the 
Cafe Anglais. When she called for him at the club he had lost a 
great deal of money and was unwilling to leave the card-table. 1 


16 


THE PKIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


had had enough of baccarat, so he begged me to accompany the 
lady to the restaurant, where the other guests were awaiting them, 
and 1 could not refuse/’ 

“You might at least have remembered that 1 was suftering the 
most intolerable anxiety,” said Clara, bitterly. 

“One can not think of everything,” replied George, dryly. 
“ Allow me to finish my story, if you please. 

“1 had scarcely entered the room where the supper was to be 
served when a waiter came to inform me that a lady insisted upon 
seeing me. 1 could not imagine who the lady was; but 1 had no in- 
tention of remaining with my friends, so 1 willingly consented to 
go and see wiiat was wanted. The waiter pointed out the room to 
me. 1 entered it, and, to my very great surprise, found you there 
in company with Monsieur Dartige. 

“ Will you do me the favor to explain what you were doing 
there? It is useless to say that your presence was due solely to 
chance, for Monsieur Darti^^e had ordered supper.” 

Clara had listened to this recital without any attempt at interrup- 
tion; but indignation, jealousy, and doubt were all imprinted upon 
her face. The assurance with which her husband defended him- 
self had not convinced her of his innocence; but she no longer felt 
certain of his guilt. Already their rdles had become reversed. The 
accused had been transformed into the judge. 

She endeavored to regain the ascendency in this contest between 
husband and wife, however. 

“ No,” she exclaimed, looking searchingly at George, “ this is not 
true. That woman was Madame de Benserade. Do not deny It. 
1 know that what 1 say is the truth.” 

The count turned pale, but he quickly recovered himself, and re- 
plied in a perfectly calm voice: 

“Was it Moulieres who gave you this valuable information as 
well?” 

“ Ko,” replied Clara, cut to the heart, “ it was the Marquise de 
Marvejols, your cousin. She came to see me to-day expressly to 
warn me. It is to her that 1 am indebted for the knowledge that 
you prefer a worthless and disreputable woman to me,” she contin- 
ued hotly. 

George’s eyes flashed ominously. 

“ How long is it since you began to place such implicit confi- 
dence in the gossip of this notorious old busybody?” he retorted 
angrily. “ You are at perfect liberty to believe whatever you please, 
however. It is now time for me to speak to you on a much more 
important subject. 1 am about to leave France.” 

“ With this woman?” cried the countess. 

“ You are evidently losing your mind. 1 am about to leave 
France for a long time, and perhaps forever, for I am ruined, irre- 
trievably ruined,” 

“ And you would leave me for such a reason as that!” exclaimed 
Clara, instantly forgetting all her former doubts and suspicions. 

“ It seems to me an all-sufficient reason,” sneered the count. 
“ To-day, at the Bourse, I lost not only all I possess, but more. 1 
shall give up everything to my creditors; but 1 do not feel inclined 
to remain in Paris, where 1 am likely to meet them at every turn. 


THE PKIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAHD. 17 

1 shall make the best possible arranffements with them, and then 
leave for Australia in the hope of retrieving my losses there. 

“ Only yesterday it would have cost me a bitter pang to tear my- 
self from you; hut after what has occurred this evening, 1 can bear 
the separation with resignation.” 

“ George, George, do not speak thus,” cried the countess. “You 
know that 1 hare no cause to reproach myself, and that 1 can not 
live tvithout you. What does it matter, after all, if you have lost 
your fortune! 1 am rich, and all 1 have belongs to you.” 

“No, for your fortune is settled upon yourself. The money is 
yours, yours alone; and 1 come of a race that does not accept alms. 
Better, a hundred times better, exile and poverty than humiliation.” 

“ Hush! or 1 shall think that you do not love me, and that you 
have never loved me. When 1 married you, 1 did not ask you if 
you were rich. It was you who insisted that our marriage contract 
should make me absolute mistress of my own property; but I have 
always felt that everything was ours in common. Had 1 been un- 
fortunate, and lost all my money, 1 should not have blushed to ask 
assistance from you, and 1 am sure that you would have shared 
wiih me all you possess.” 

“ That is true; but the cases are entirely different.” 

“ In what respect? You know that I gained my fortune by my 
talent, and that it was as honorably acquired as if 1 had inherited it 
from my father, as you did.” 

“ Perhaps so; but 1 will not have it said that the Count de Lis- 
trac is living upon his wife’s demi-semi- quavers.” 

“ No one will say that, for no one knows anything about our pri- 
vate affairs, and so long as your debts are paid, no one is going to 
ask you where you obtained the money to pay them. 

“ I think 1 should know how to silence any one who ventured to 
make any inquiries upon the subject, but you talk of impossibilities. 
It 1 should consent to what you propose, 1 should only reduce you 
to poverty, without saving myself.” 

“ How much do you owe?” asked the countess, eagerly. 

“ 1 would not tell you but for the necessity of convincing you of 
the truth of my situation,” replied George, after a short silence. 
“ The situation may be briefly stated as follows: When 1 first em- 
barked in these business speculations, which have resulled so disas- 
trously, 1 had about six hundred thousand francs left of my patri- 
mony. 1 shall relinquish all that is left of this amount to my 
creditors, but to meet all my obligations, 1 should require at least 
four hundred and fifty thousand francs more.” 

“ And you would leave me for such a trifle as that! You forget 
that 1 have a million of my own, and this house alone is worth five 
hundred thousand francs. 1 will sell.it, and our horses and car- 
riages as well, and we shall still have enough left to live upon.” 

” At your expense,” murmured the count, shakinghis head sadly. 

“What!” exclaimed Clara, “you still hesitate to sacrifice your 
pride for my sake? You would rather see me die of despair at los- 
ing you?” 

George looked up at his wife, who thought she could read in his 
face that she had touched him at last. All his sternness had cer- 
taiirly vanished, and his drawn features had relaxed. 


18 


THE PKIMA DOIs^HA’s HUSBAND. 


“ Then you no longer believe that 1 have tiansf erred my aflec* 
tions to the Baroness cle Benserade?” he asked, half-smilingly, 

“ iVo more than you believe that 1 care anything whatever for 
Monsieur Dartige,” responded Clara, vehemently. 

“ Oh, you are going too fast, my dear. The charge against me 
is groundless, while you have yet to prove to me that this gentle- 
man with whom you were about to sup— by the merest chance— and 
in all honor — 

“ Had it been otherwise, 1 certainly should not have bade the 
waiter tell you that 1 wu’shed to see you. 1 should have concealed 
myself, instead of sending for 5 ^ou.” 

This time the count smiled openly. 

“That is a telling argument, 'he replied. “'Why didn’t you 
think of it in the first place?” 

“ Because 1 did not think of defending myself.” 

“No; you thought only ol accusing me. Then, according to 
you, all this is only a slight misunderstanding.” 

“ 1 think you must feel thoroughly convinced of it. Shall we 
not sign a treaty of peace?” 

The count took his wife’s proftered hand and pressed a kiss upon 
it. 

“ Ah! you are yourself again, my dearest!” she exclaimed, with 
an emotion M. de Listrac did not fully share. 

He seemed to have forgotten his grievance against his wife; but 
he remained complete master of himself, while Clara forgot every- 
thing else in her regained happiness. 

“Ah, well,” slie continued, “1 confess that 1 have done very 
■wrong. 1 should have closed my ears against Madame de Marjevol’s 
slander, and shown Monsieur de Moulieres to the door. But 1 lost 
my senses entirely. It is not my fault that 1 am so terribly jealous. 

I love you so much! But you can forgive me for that, can you not?” ' 

Now it was she who was asking forgiveness. Love is indeed 
blind. I 

“And 1 hope that you will not challenge Monsieur Dartige, ” 
she was imprudent enough fo add. 

“You seem to be very deeply interested in that gentleman,” said j 
the count, frowning slightly. 

“ He is indifierent to me, but 1 do not want you to risk your life. 
Besides, a hostile meeting would be absurd under the circumstances. ; 
Think no more about him. We shall never see him again. 1 had 
almost forgotten him, and now 1 almost hate him since he has been 
the cause — though the innocent cause — of arousing your anger 
against me. But you are mine once more, and 1 shall keep you.” 

“ No; for 1 must soon leave you.” 

“Leave me? We are to be separated merely because you have 
been unfortunate in business? If we were penniless, I would follov\ 
you to Australia. But in a few days all your debts will be paid. 
To-morrow 1 will see my lawyer, and 1 am sure that we shall have 
no trouble in disposing of the house. My law 3 ^er told me only last 
week that he knew a person who would be glad to purchase it. 
shall not tell him why I part with it. I shall merely announce th U 
we are going to leave Paris for Italy, Switzerland, or wherever- y . 
like.” 


19 


THE PRIHA DON^TA'S HUSBAKD. 

I 

“ What a child you are! By to-morrow everybody will know that 
I have nothing, and that you have impoverished yourself to pay my 
I debts. Every one will point the finger of scorn at me, my dearest, 
and 1 would rather die in want and exile than reduce you to pov- 
erty.” 

I “Poverty! I was no stranger to that in my early life, and I 
swear to you that, borne with j^ou; it has no terrors for me. But 
tve shall not be reduced to pov’erty, on the contrar 3 % we shall still 
I have a modest fortune of four or five hundred thousand francs. If 
that does not content you, 1 can return to the operatic stage. My 
voice is unimpaired, and 1 have only to say the word to secure an 
I engagement that would treble our income.” 

! “ 1 do not doubt it. The name of the Countess de Listrac would 

look well upon a play-bill.” 

“You know very well that 1 should appear under that of Clara 
i Monti.” 

“ Which amounts to exactly the same thing. Every one knows 
that I married Clara Monti, and you will never return to the stage 
{ with my consent.” 

“ You are right. We will say no more about that, but be content 
with the modest competence left us. Honor is worth far more than 
‘ money— honor, and the happiness of living for each other. 1 shall 
be glad to give up society, and 1 will try to make you foiget the 
world. You wish to leave Paris. Let as depart together.” 

“You forget that this departure would strongly resemble a flight.” 

“ Hot if your debts are paid before we leave.” 

“ But I am not sure that my fortune and the proceeds of the sale 
of this house will suffice.” 

“ Then you have not told me all!” 

“ To-night, at the club, 1 bet heavily, hoping to retrieve to some 
extent, at least, my losses at the Bourse, and — ” 

“ And you lost? How much?” 

“ About thirty thousand francs. A trifle, in comparison with my 
losses elsewhere. It is true, however, that these debts of honor 
must be paid within twenty-four hours, while 1 have until the end 
:of the month to settle my other indebtedness,” 

“ That does not matter,” replied Clara, quickly. “ If you need 
this money to-morrow, you can obtain it from my banker. All my 
ready money is deposited with him, and 1 will give you a check for 
the amount you name. He will think you are drawing it for me.” 

The count did not reply, save by a gesture that said plainly: “ To 
what depths of humiliation am 1 reduced!” Then, covering his 
face with his hands, he bowed his head upon the arm of the sofa on 
which he was sitting. By the convulsive movements of his shoulders 
one would have supposed that he was sobbing violently. 

Clara could restrain herself no longer. The sight of this silent 
anguish deprived her of the last lingering vestige of reason and dis- 
cernment. It never once occurred to her that she might be witness- 
ing a scene carefully prepared in advance. George was unfortunate; 
he was suffering; she forgot everything else, and, falling on her 
nees before him, she twined her arms about his neck, drew him to 
1 . 3 r, and covered his face with kisses. 

“ George, 1 love you,” she murmured fondly. “ 1 love you a 


20 


THE PKIMA DOHHA’s HUSBAND. 


hunflred times more than ever! What does all the rest matter? 
Tell me that you will never leave me! Say that you will accept 
what 1 offer you!” 

He resisted ieebly, then, releasing himseH Irom her embrace, he 
said, in hollow tones: 

“You will have it so! You insist that I shall sacrifice my scru- 
ples, brave the scorn ot the world, and give up my friends, for the 
Count ae Listrac, dependent upon his wite, will be deemed unworthy 
of notice.” 

“ You will be my husband, my lover,” whispered Clara, caress- 
ing him fondly. 

“ Ah, well, so be it! I will live for you alone. Your love will 
console me for everything. It will give me courage to despise the 
fools who sneer at me, and 1 think 1 shall know how to silence 
them.” 

George and his wife were now completely reconciled. Lifting 
Clara, whose arms were still about his neck, he pressed her to his 
heart so passionately that she nearly swooned with happiness. Over- 
come with rapture, she sat there a long time, silent and motionless, 
with her head resting upon the breast of her husband, who soothed 
her with tenderest words. 

The lips of this husband said; “ 1 adore you;” but his eyes said: 
“ At last!” and his countenance expressed satisfaction, rather than 
emotion, the lively satisfaction aroused by a consciousness of having 
conducted a delicate negotiation to a successful termination— the 
satisfaction of an actor who has jusi played a difficult role with con- 
summate skill. 


CHAPTER II. 

On the day following this reconciliation, there were no matters of 
a sentimental nature under discussion at the residence of the lady 
who had been the cause of the first quarrel between a once fondly 
united couple. 

The Baroness de Benserade occupied spacious apartments on the 
first fioor of a handsome house on the Rue de Suresnes. There she 
received her friends, and she had many of them, every day, and 
often gave very delightful evening entertainments, artistic fetes, 
where one was sure to be treated to very excellent music, and origi- 
nal poems and essays ot no mean order. 

This Baroness de Benserade was the child of poor but ambitious 
parents who had given her, instead of a dowry, very excellent ad- 
vice, and a practical education. From her earliest infancy, she 
had been carefully instructed in the art ot pleasing, with a view to 
securing the most eligible possible parti, and she had profited by 
these lessons. Intelligent, shrewd, unscrupulous, and full of tact, 
Juliette Plantin was, at the age of twenty, a thorough skeptic in 
petticoats, with an intense thiist for luxury and strong passions 
which she had already learned to conceal. The long looked for 
suitor had presented himself in the guise of a worthy country noble- 
man, already past the prime of life, and Juliette had not neglected 
the opportunity. 

After several years devoted to the study of her liege lord, she con- 


THE PRIMA DOHHA’s HUSBAHD. 21 

Ihuded to enliven her rather monotonous existence — the baron spent 
Ifcne months out ot the tv/elve on his estate in JNormandy —by a lit- 
jfie flirtation. The result was a duel in which both combatants were 
^fcain, and the baroness, on her twenty-fifth birthday, found herself 
not only rich but free. 

Even now, at the a^e of thirty, she was still very beautiful, 

' though her loveliness was of the eighteenth, rather than of the 
i nineteenth, century type. She was another Du Barry, plump, fresh 
‘and rosy, with a rather languishing expression that softened the 
brilliancy of her sparkling ej^es, and ot the golden hair which might 
have served her as a mantle, like that of Genevieve de Brabant. 

Her beauty was the exact opposite ot that of Clara Monti, who 
had the regular features and regal form of a Greek statue, and the 
; serious mouth and sad eyes peculiar to Italians. 

Men like contrasts. 

The baroness had risen at an unusually early hour, and was just 
breakfasting, dressed ready lo go out, when her maid ushered M. 
de Moulieres into the room. 

It was quite evident that this gentleman was on very intimate 
terms with the mistress of the establishment, for the conversation 
that ensued was preceded by no exchange of polite commonplaces, 

“So here you are,’’ remarked the baroness, rather curtly. “I 
am glad of it, 1 have something to tell you.*' 

“ vVhat has happened, my dear friend?’* inquired Moulieres, tran- 
quilly, placing his hat carefully upon a console. 

“ 1 narrowly escaped finding myself face to face with George’s 
wife last night at the Cafe Anglais. You see 1 had asked him to 
take me there to supper, just for the fun of the thing, you know, 
and 1 called for him at the club on my return from Madame d’Artig- 
nau’s reception. The countess must have been watching her hus- 
band for she followed us into the restaurant, and we were scarcely 
installed in a certain greenroom wilh which you are familiar, when 
she attempted to enter it. The waiter had all he could do to pre- 
vent her from doing so, but he finally succeeded in getting her into 
a private room, and then came and told George, who guessed at 
once that it was the countess.” 

“ How did he get out of the scrape?” 

” In a way that was anything but satisfactory to me. 1 hoped he 
would take advantage of the opportunity to rid himself of this ci- 
demnt prima donna forever, but instead of doing that, he left me 
to go and pacify her. Men are such cowards.” 

“ He did exactly right,” replied Moulieres. 

“ Bo you are inclined to undertake his defense! You have gone 
over to the enemy, you, from whom 1 have no secrets.” 

“ Listrac is certainly an enemy ot whom you have no cause to 
complain. At what amount do you value the services he has ren- 
dered you during your six months acquaintance?” 

“ 1 have set no valuation upon them, and that is not the question. 

1 love George de Listrac, as you know, and 1 am not in the habit of 
yielding precedence to any one. 1 am deeply incensed at the trick 
he played upon me, and 1 am by no means sure that i shall forgive 
him.” 

“ You make a great mistake in getting angry about such a trifle. 


22 


THE PRIMA DONiTA’S HUSBAND. 


George has special reasons for being anxious to avoid any open 
rupture with ids wife at present. But what was Ihe conclusion ot 
the adventure?” 

” lie left with his countess, and 1, after waiting for him twenty 
minutes, or more, ordered my carriage, and returned home in a 
furious rage. 1 assure you, George shall pay dearly for this aftront. 
But what could have put it into Madame de Listrac's head to go to 
the (Jafe Anglais last night in search of her husband? Some one 
must have given her a hint. Ir 1 knew the person who ventured to 
do it—” 

‘‘ Madame de Listrac did not go straight to the restaurant. She 
must have seen the count enter your carriage at the club-house, 
where she had gone in pursuit of him. It was I wdio sent her there.” 

” You! Well, this is really too much. You have certpinly en- 
tered tne field against me?” 

” 1 am more truly your friend than ever, and it was in your in- 
terest that 1 acted, you may rest assured ot that.” 

You must be jesting.” 

” Not at all. 1 had left Listrac at the card-table, betting heavily. 
My regard tor you made me desire to save him from utter ruio/if 
possible, and 1 could think of no other way than to warn his wife. 
Had J known that you were going to call for him at the club-house^ 
1 should have refrained from doing so, but all things considered, 1 
don’t regret what 1 have done.” 

” So to prevent George from losing a few bank-notes, you exposed 
me to a risk of finding myself face to face witli his wife,” said the 
baroness sullenly. ” 1 am greatly obliged to you, and to her also.” 

There was a moment’s silence during which M. de Moulieres sat 
with his eyes riveted upon the angry face of the baroness. 

‘‘Are you acquainted with George’s financial condition?” heat 
last inquired, sudden l3^ 

” I know tliat he is very rich.” 

‘‘ One is never rich when one gambles— at the Bourse, especially.” 

*‘ He cleared nearl}^ a million last year.” 

‘‘ Has he said anything to you about his recent losses?” 

• ‘‘ He told me that he had just lost fifteen hundred louis at the 
club. It did not seem to affect his spirits in the least, however.” 

“ He will find it a much more difficult matter to console himself 
for his recent losses in stocks. He must ow^e twelve hundred thou- 
sand francs.” 

” Oh, well, he will pay it,” replied the baroness with unruffled 
composure, 

‘‘ And how, if 1 may venture to inquire? His entire property 
would not sufldce to meet his obligations, and he can not touch that 
of his wife, who took good care to have her fortune settled on her- 
self when she married him.” 

‘‘ That was like her, the old miser!” growded Mme. de Benserade. 
‘‘ If 1 could see her reduced to poverty it would almost console me 
for George’s misfortunes.” 

“You will never have that satisfaction, unless she should im- 
poverish herself of her own accord to pay her husband’s debts.” 

” She will take good care not to do that. She has no heart.” 

‘‘ Ah, ha, who knows? But, however that may be, you must 


THE PKIIIA donna’s HUSBAND. 


23 


; admit it is a very fortunate thing that Listrac did not break with his 
I wife. If he can get safely out of this scrape, he will be able to re- 
trieve his losses, for it he can manage to pay all his creditors at a 

■ time like this, he will be able to obtain unlimited credit in future. 

I Do you think he will be here to-daj^?” 

I “If he doesn’t, 1 will never see him again while I live.” 

■ “ If he does call try to discover the condition of his business 
affairs. If he can obtain his wife’s indorsement 1 can safely promise 

i to obtain tor him at once, all the money he needs. Menager will 
! loan him almost any amount upon my recommendation.” 

“At twenty per cent., 1 suppose?” 

“ What does that matter, if it be the countess who pays the in- 
I terest?” 

“Yes, let her pay it. Let her sell her diamonds and lier fine 
house, and go and give singing lessons where she came from. 1 
I will purchase her house, and live there one of these days with George 
as my husband. ” 

“ That would be charming!” sneered Moulieres, “ but you forget 
* that this lady is his lawful wife.” 

“You forget that there is little or no difficulty about obtaining 
divorces in these days. ’ ’ 

“ But what would you gain by such a marriage?” 

“ 1 should become a countess.” 

“ But you are already a baroness; besides, your first marriage 
turned out badly.”* 

“ Not so badly for me.” 

“ What is your present fortune?” 

“ I have a yearly income of sixty thousand francs. It was only 
twenty thousand when I became a widow. But why do you ask 
that question?” 

“ Merely to remind you that Listrac is a ruined man.” 

“ But you just told me that he might succeed in weathering the 
storm.” 

“ Yes, for the lime being, if his wife comes to his aid. But a 
man who speculates once is sure to speculate again, and if you are 
ever foolish enough to marry him, he will ruin you in your turn.” 

“ 1 should not allow him to do that. 1 am no Clara Monti. Lis- 
trac suits me, and I intend to marry him some day, butl sha’n’t let 
him squander my money.” 

“Let me give you a word of advice, my dear Juliette,” said 
Moulieres earnestly. “Sedulously refrain from doing ao 5 dhing to 
w'iden the breach between George and his wife, at least for the 
present. Let him effect a reconciliation with her if possible. 1 have 
an idea that he will succeed. You will profit by the reconcili- 
ation, for he will never forgive the countess for having saved him. 
1 know him. He will never forgive her for the humiliation he will 
be compelled to endure. It is my interest in you, my dear Juliette, 
that prompts me to give you this advice. Listrac is entirely in- 
different to me, but 1 must admit that I hate his wife, and if you 
will be guided by me 1 promise that you shall have the satisfaction 
of seeing her ruined, deserted and broKen-hearted. ” 

“ Nothing would please me better.” 

“Very well, but no foolishness! Don’t spoil my plans by pro- 


24 


THE PKIMA DOKI^'A’S HUSBAND. 


claiming your love foi Listrac on the housetop, or by making any 
scenes with him about his wife. And when he calls, pretend to be 
ignorant of his financial misfortunes.'’ 

At that very moment the door opened, and the maid announced: 

“ The Count de Listrac.’* 

“ Good-morning, count,” said the baroness, gayly, evidently re- 
solved to profit by the instructions of her usual adviser. ” You have 
probably called to find out what became of me after your abrupt 
departure. 1 am sure it is very kind in you. Ah, well, 1 ate my 
supper alone, strange as it may appear, and then sadly returned 
home — to dream of you,” she added with an arch glance, and merry 
laugh. “No apologies are necessary, I assure you.” 

“ You are an angel,” replied Listrac, kissing her hand. “ 1 have 
been guilty of an unpardonable offense, and yet you forgive me.” 

“ 1 can not say that I feel so charitably disposed toward the cause 
of all this unpleasantness,” he added, looking Moulieres full in the 
face. 

“ You should not be angry with me, my dear fellow,” replied the 
delinquent, carelessly. “ 1 was actuated by the best possible motives, 
and sinned only through ignorance, for had 1 known—” 

“ We will discuss this matter elsewhere,” said the count, quickly, 

“ Whenever and wherever you please.” 

“ As soon as we leave here, if it suits your convenience. 1 was 
in search of you, and I can enjoy Madame de Benserade’s society 
only for a moment.” 

“ xAh! this time it is my turn to be angry,” cried Juliette. “ 1 
hoped to keep you all the morning to compensate for my last even- 
ing’s disappointment, and you rush off without even sitting down. 
1 should not be afraid to wager almost any amount that you are on 
your way to the Bourse. 1 think it very unkind in you to desert 
me in order to run after a lot of sharpers. If you lose your money 
1 shall not be inconsolable, by any means, for you may then favor 
your friends with a little more of "your society.” 

The baroness had entered thoroughly into the spirit of her r51e, 
and Moulieres rewarded her with an approving glance. 

Listrac was equally well content. He feared that Juliette had 
heard of bis losses, and now that Clara had promised to save him 
he was anxious to conceal the real situation of affairs from the 
baroness. 

“ You need have no fears, my dear madame,” he answered gayly. 
“ 1 shall not speculate any more. 1 have had anall-sutticient lesson.” 

“What! are you really embarrassed? If you are, all that I pos- 
sess is at your disposal, as you know very well, my dear friend.” 

“ I know. You are, indeed, an angel,” said the count. “ But, 
fortunately, 1 am in no serious trouble, and even if 1 were I could 
not take advantage of your kindness. ” 

Listrac was perectly sincere in this declaration, for though he did 
not feel the slightest scruples about impoverishing his wife he 
would have blushed to accept such a service from his new divinity. 

“ And now,” he added, gently, “ you must not only permit me 
to say good-by to you, but also to take our friend away with me.” 

“ 1 consent on condition that you will call and see me this even- 


I THE PEIxMA HOXNA'S HUSBAi^D. 25 

I ing. If you break your word 1 assure you that 1 shall be very 
angry with 3 ^ou.” 

j “ i will certainly be here. Come, Moulieres. ” 
i That gentleman required no urging, for he felt a presentiment 
that his conversation with Listrac was going to be a very interesting 
I one. 

! They had scarcely reached the street when the count began by 
saying: 

“ My dear fellow, I am not in the least angry with you for having 
i warned my wife. Of course you could not know of my eugage- 
i ment with the baroness, and I was engaged in a game that threat- 
ened to end most disastrously for me. Besides, all’s well that ends 
well, and the meeting at the Cafe Anglais brought about between 
my wife and myself an explanation which 1 have long desired. 
She understands now that 1 have no idea of surrendering my liberty, 
and she will henceforth allow me to be undisputed master of my 
own actions.” 

” 1 congratulate you, my friend. Life would be intolerable to a 
marrieu man if he were compelled to submit to his wife’s constant 
persecution. But 1 thought Madame de Listrac was very jealous.” 

“You are very much mistaken, but even if she were i am not 
inclined to submit to any unseemly interference. If she gave me 
any trouble of that kind I should not hesitate to leave her, and 1 
know to whom 1 should look for consolation, for Madame de Ben- 
«erade is adorable.” 

“ She is certainly devoted to you. Only a few moments ago she 
was plying me with questions, so great is her anxiety to learn if 
you have been a sufferer by the crash. ’ ’ 

“And you told her nothing. 1 am greatly obliged to you for it. 
The truth is, my dear fellow, 1 have lost heavily, like many others, 
and find myself greatly embarrassed, though only for the time be- 
ing, for very fortunately 1 shall soon have the means of meeting all 
my obligations. 1 have lost just eleven hundred and fifty thousand 
francs. But 1 have si& hundred thousand francs on deposit at my 
bankers’, and before the end of the month 1 shall be in a position 
to pay my entire indebtedness. It will take all 1 have to do this 
of course, and 1 shall be sadly in need of some ready money— say 
one hundred thousand francs — to meet my current expenses, and to 
«ave me from being compelled to make any change in my mode of 
living before 1 can make another start. Can you procure this 
money for me?” 

“ 1 should be only too glad to loan you all you want, but 1, too, 
have lost heavily,” Moulieres answered, hurriedly. 

“ Oh, the idea of having recourse to your purse never occurred 
to me,” replied Listrac. “ But 1 thought you might know some 
money-lender who would accommodate me.” 

“ 1 know but one, a man named Menager, who has accom- 
modated many members of our club. 1 have applied to him two 
or three times, and he has treated me very fairly.” 

“ Do you think he would loan me the amount of which 1 stand 
in need?” 

“ Why not? He always seems to have plenty of money at his 
disposal.” 


26 


THE PRIMA DOKHA’S HUSBAKD. 


“ But 1 must have the money to-day, and your man may want 
time to make inquiries about my solveuc 3 ^ He, of course, knows 
nothing about me?” 

“You are very much mistaken, my dear fellow. Menager is a 
specialist. He knows the financial condition of every person of any 
importance in Paris, and he is always ready to oblige them, though 
he will loan money only on the best security. His rates are rather 
high, it is true, but — ” 

” Ob, I expect that, of course, and don’t mind paying a few hun- 
dred francs more or less. Will you introduce me to this capitalist?” 

“Immediately, it you wish. He lives on ihe Rue Godot de 
Mauroy, not far from here. Shall we pay him a call as we pass?” 

“ Y'es, it you think there is any probability that he will consider 
my application favorably.” 

“ 1 have no doubt of it. You probably figure upon his list of 
possible patrons.” 

“ But he may hesitate after my losses of yesterday.” 

“ Why should he, when you are still solvent? You have lost 
only a little more than you made last year, and when you have paid 
what 3 mu owe you will still be the Count de Listrac, a nobleman of 
stainless reputation, and the possessor of a very handsome fortune.” 

“ A fortune of nearly halt a million,” said Listrac, with unblush- 
ing effrontery. 

“ Liar!” thought Moulieres, who was as well informed upon this 
point as upon many others. 

But he continued aloud: 

“ That is a very comfortable fortune, and 1 suppose you do not 
include Madame de Listrac’s private property in this estimate?” 

“ No, my wife has a million of her own, and will soon have more, 
for she intends to sell the house we are living in, and that is now 
worth more than half as much again as she paid for it.” 

“ That is also her own private property, I believe?” 

“Yes, according to the terms of our marriage contract, though 
we really share alike in the entire property and always shall.” 

“ Even after the scene at the Cafe Anglais?” 

“ Yes, even after the scene at the Cafe Anglais. My wife is per- 
fection. Several persons have tried to make trouble between us^ 
but all such efforts have proved unsuccessful.” 

This conversation had brought the two friends to the entrance of 
the Rue Godot. Listrac was in the best of spirits. Everything 
promised well. Clara had consented to save him by paying his 
debts, and the obliging Moulieres was about to furnish him with 
the means of tempting fortune anew at the baccarat table, it not at 
the Bourse. 

But M. de Moulieres was even better satisfied than Listrac, for 
everything seemed to indicate the speed 3 ’' success of his complicated 
schemes— schemes which no one had divined, not even the baroness, 
though he expected her to contribute largely to their ultimate suc- 
cess. 

The house in which M. Menager resided was eminently respect- 
able in appearance, and he occupied a handsome suite ot apartments 
on the first floor. 

A neatly attired maid-servant opened the door for the visitors. 


THE PRIIIA DONHA’S HUSBAKD. 


27 


I and ushered them into a comfortably furnished apartment which 
evidently served as a waiting-room for visitors when M. Menager 
I was engaged, which seemed to be the case at the present time. 

! The maid took the card upon which M. de Moulieres had penciled 
I a few lines, left the room with it, and returned a few minutes after- 
' ward to inform the gentlemen that her master wmuld see them at 
I once. 

Tiiey were conducted to a luxuriously furnished office with which 
any prominent law5^er would have been well content. There was a 
ricli Turkish carpet upon the floor, costly pictures adorned the 
walls, the etagers were loaded with rare bric-a-brac, and at the 
lurlher end of the room was an immense safe. 

Tlie desk was placed directly in front of the window in such a 
way that M. Menager sat with" his back to the light, and, tiianks to 
(his arrangement, which reminded one of that of the cabinet of a 
Judge of instruction, the usurer could see the effect produced upon 
would-be borrowers by his wily refusals or evasive promises. The 
countenance of the applicant became a thermometer that indicated 
the intensity of his need. 

On this occasion, however, M. Menager scorned to make use of 
this advantage, but advancing to meet his visitors bowed to them 
courteously, and politely invited them to be seated. 

He was a middle-aged man, with a pleasant face and very genial 
manners, and there was nothing either in his appearance or attire 
that betokened the unscrupulous money-lender, for he was hand- 
somely and even fashionably dressed. 

Moulieres broke the ice by introducing the Count de Listrac. 

“ My dear Menager,” he began, “ m}^ friend here wishes a loan 
of one hundred thousand francs to-day, so 1 have brought him to 
you. 1 can vouch for him as for myself, and you know that your 
business transactions with me have always pioved alike profitable 
and satisfactory.” 

” I have the honor of knowing the Count de Listrac by sight and 
by reputation,” replied the usurer bowing, ” and only day before 
yesterday 1 would not have hesitated to comply with his request 
without any other security than his note. Permit me to add that the 
circumstances are now very different. Monsieur invested heavily 
in the Union Generale, and after the crash of yesterday — ” 

”1 see that you are well posted,” interrupt ed Listrac; “ 1 have 
lost heavily, but my margins are covered by the amount on deposit 
at my bankers’, 'iou can satisfy yourself of tliis fact, if you like.” 

” 1 do not doubt it, sir; but though I should be very glad to 
oblige you 1 can not depart from my usual rules. Excuse my 
frankness, and let us try to devise some means of reconciling your 
desire with my safety.” 

” Nonsense !” exclaimed Moulieres, ‘‘ you are certainly hard to 
please to-day. Monsieur de Listrac’s signature is good for almost 
any amount. Though I am not rich by any means 1 offered to lend 
my friend the money he wants. He refused out of excess of deli- 
cacy, preferring to pay a heavy interest for the money than to in- 
convenience me. Take advantage of the opportunity, my dear fel- 
low. It will not present itself again, for Monsieur de Listrac will 
soon be relieved of his temporary embarrassment, and will never 


28 


THE PRIMA DOKKA^S HUSBAND. 


liave any further need of you. What do you need to decide you?kj 
Will my indorsement suffice?” | 

M. Menager seemed greatly embarrassed. He probably feared to | 
offend a good customer by declining his indorsement, and it was il| 
with some timidity that he finally ventured to ask: I 

“ The property of the Countess de Listrac is settled upon herself, 

1 believe?” 

The count started. He had no idea that this usurer was so well 
informed. 

” Yes, sir,” said he, ” but my wife’s fortune has nothing to do 
with the matter. My own is the thing to be considered.” 

‘‘ Certainly, but that of the countess is intact. She can dispose 
of it to suit herself, and there is nothing to prevent her from ac- 
commodating her husband. She might do so, tor instance, without 
making any change in the investment of her money merely by in- 
dorsing a note drawn by you.” 

Listrac bit his lips, but made no reply. 

“ That is not a bad idea,” remarked Moulieres. 

” But an entirely impracticable one,” growled the count. “My 
wife would not object, 1 am sure; but she understands nothing 
about business, and it might alarm her to have a note drawn by me 
presented to her for indorsement.” 

“ But what is there to prevent you fiom taking the note to her 
yourself, and fully explaining the facts. If she is at home it will 
take you. only about three quarters of an hour to go there and re- 
turn.” 

As he spoke, Moulieres looked searchingly at the usurer, who 
had as yet neither approved nor opposed this suggestion, but who 
seemed to hesitate; and Moulieres doubtless exercised some potent 
influence over him, for the money-lender finally replied, though not 
without some reluctance: 

“Yes, the matter might be arranged in that way, though it is 
scarcely in accordance with commercial customs. The note should 
be presented for acceptance by a third party. This is a precaution 
which is generally necessary to insure the authenticity of the in- 
dorser’s signature.” 

“ We know that, of course, but you surely can not doubt Mon- 
sieur de Listrac's integrity.” 

“ Certainly not,” replied M. Menager, though not very earnestly. 

“ Then, in an urgent case like this, you can certainly neglect a 
mere formality. Draw up the necessary documents, and the whole 
matter can be satisfactorily concluded in less than an hour.” 

The count had not uttered a word, bu^ though he thus allowed 
Moulieres to arrange the matter to his liking, his face betrayed his 
feelings. He was evidently troubled by the thought of asking 
another sacrifice of his wife, and yet he did not refuse. 

“We had better draw three notes, for thirty-five thousand francs 
each, payable in ninety days,” said Menager, urged on by an almost 
imperious glance from Moulieres. “ That will make a total of 
one hundred and five thousand francs; one hundred thousand for 
the count, and five thousand for interest, which is certainly not too> 
much. Here are the blanks,” he added, opening his desk. 

Listrac hesitated a moment, but finally took them. 


THE PRIMA DOKNA’S HUSBAND. 29 

“ 1 knew he would come to it,” thought Muulieres, his eyes flash- 
ing with triumph. 

‘‘ It the count should desire the loan for six months he can have 
it for ten Ihousana francs,” remarked Menager. 

“No, three months will be long enough,” replied Listrac. 

“And now that this is satisfactorily arranged, I should advise 
you to jump into a carriage, and drive to the Rue de Monceau im- 
mediately,” suggested Moulieres. “ You can be back here in an 
hour if you find Madame de Listrac still at home. If you like, 1 
will wait for you here?” 

When Menager returned to his office after accompanying the 
count to the door, he found Moulieres rubbing his hands compla- 
cently. 

“ Well, my dear fellow,” he inquired, point-blank, “will you 
have the kindness to tell me why you are so anxious to entail a loss 
of one hundred thousand francs upon us?” 

“We shall not lose it, my friend,” leplied Moulieres, tranquilly. 

“ But you know as well as 1 do that the man is ruined. He pre- 
tends that he has enough money left to pay his indebtedness, but 
he lies. Last evening his broker mentioned this Listrac as one of 
the clients who would be utterly unable to make his margins good. 

1 told you so this moaning when you came to talk with me about 
him, and yet only two hours afterward you bring here and send in 
a card upon which you have written : ‘ Loan him what he wants, 
provided his wife will indorse his note/ 1 never heard of such 
folly. By the terms of our contract, you are to have the manage- 
ment of the business, I admit; but for all that 1 am your partnei% 
and am obliged to bear my share of the losses.” 

“ Yes, exactly as you are entitled to your share of the profits. 
Well, 1 will assume fill the responsibility in this case. Listrac is 
ruined, it is true; but Madame de Listrac is not.” 

“ 1 know that, hut she is not compelled to pay the debts of the 
spendthrift she was foolish enough to marry.” 

“ And whom she idolizes. What "would 5^ou think if 1 should tell 
you that she is going to sell her house in order tu be able to relieve 
her husband of his financial difficulties?” 

“ How much will she have left after doing this?” 

“ Five or six hundred thousand francs, at the very least, so you 
see that we are perfectly safe. I have foreseen all this for a long 
time, and have been making my plans accordingly.” 

“ Your plans may be superb ones, but that which strikes me 
most forcibly just now is that we are not likely to ever see our 
money again.” 

“You are very much mistaken. Listrac will be back in less than 
an hour with his Wife’s indorsement.” 

“ She must be a fool to give it to him.” 

“ She is very much in love, which amounts to the same thing. 
Besides, if she does not indorse it you need not let him have the 
money, so you see we risk nothing.” 

“ But what guarantee have we that the signature is genuine, even 
it he returns with it. He may forge it.” 

“ That would certainly be a strange, not to say dangerous, pro- 
ceeding for a nobleman; still there have been such cases.” 


30 


THE PRIMA DONHA’S HUSBAHD. 

“ So you admit that. Then why have you, who are such a 
thorough business man, compelled me to rely upon the very cloubt- 
lul probity of this gentleman.” 

“ AVhat does it matter to' you whether he is honest or not pro- 
vided we get our money back?” 

“ But that is the very question. You yourself admit that there 
is nothing to prevent him from forging his wife’s name.” 

‘‘We can easily discover whether he has been guilt}'’ of such an 
act by showing the notes to Madame de Listrac.” 

” But what if she should declare that the indorsement is indeed 
a forgery?” 

‘* Then you must declare your intention of prosecuting her hus 
band tor swindling and forgery.” 

” That would not help us any.” 

” Do you suppose that this woman, who would go through fire 
and water for him, would allow you to make a formal complaint 
against him?” 

‘‘ She will tire of being his dupe after awhile.” 

” Never, my friend. The worse he treats her the more she will 
do for him. She is about to sell her house to save him from hu- 
miliation, and she would sell herself rather than see him go to 
prison. A woman’s heart docs not change in a day; still some- 
thing might happen to open Madame de Listrac’s eyes lo her hus- 
band’s real character, so 1 have no intention of waiting for the notes 
to become due before showing them to her. On the contrary, 1 
shall only wait tor a favorable opportunity, and as soon as that 
presents itself you will take the notes to Madame de Listrac. If 
the indorsement is a forgery she will pay them immediately, I am 
satisfied, for she will wish to destroy all proofs of her husband’s 
villainy.” 

“ Between you and me that would be the best thing that could 
possibly happen for us, for we should recover five thousand francs 
as interest for a week’s loan, which would certainly be a very hand- 
some profit.” 

Meuager was beginning to understand, and his face brightened. 
He did not try to guess Moulieres’ motive in setting this trap for 
Listrac, but he realized that bis partner was much shrewder than 
himself, and deemed it advisable not to interfere with his plans. 

” There is a ring at the door!” said Moulieres, suddenly. ” He 
has certainly lost no time in going to the Rue de Monceau and re- 
lurning. Now conclude the transaction as quickly as possible. Just 
glance at the signatures and then open your safe without making 
any objection or asking any questions.” 

The door of the office opened and George de Listrac entered. He 
was a trifle pale, but he said composedly: 

” You see, gentlemen, that I have not kept you waiting long. 1 
was fortunate enough to find my wife at home, so the affair was 
only a matter of a moment. Here are the notes duly indorsed.” 

Menager glanced at them, then turned and took a large package 
of bank-notes from his safe. The transaction was now speedily 
concluded, for the count did not take the trouble to count the 
money. He placed the notes in his wallet with very evident sn«is- 
faction, and after a brief compliment to M. Menager on his expedi- 


THE PKIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 31 

tious manner of transacting business, he turned to Moulieres and 
said : 

“ Shall we go now, my friend?” 

Moulieres eagerly assented. 

” AVell, how do you like my banker?” he inquired, as they de- 
scended the steps. 

‘‘ 1 am enchanted with him. 1 can not thank you enough for 
your assistance in this matter. But for you 1 should have been 
obliged to run about the streets after this money, and as it is 1 have 
had no difficulty whatever. My wife’s conduct was perfect.” 

‘‘lam not surprised to hear that. 1 only feared that your wife 
would offer to loan you the money, and my friend Menager thus 
miss a very profitable transaction.” 

Listrac colored slightly, but he soon recovered himself, and re- 
plied with suspicious alacrity: 

” She did offer me the money, but 1 declined it, for 1 did not 
want her to change any of her investments. So 1 explained to her 
that it was better, in a case like this, to apply to a usurer. In 
three months’ time 1 shall have recovered from my losses, and shall 
be able to repay this loan witlioiit the slightest inconvenience. 1 
should be greatly obliged to you, however, if you would say noth- 
ing to Madame de Benserade about the matter. It is one of my 
principles never to say anything to a woman about one’s financial 
difficulties, especially when they are only temporary.” 

” You are very wise, i think, and you can rely upon my discre- 
tion, both on the Hue Suresnes and elsewhere. Shall I find you at the 
club this evening?” 

” Do you think there will be any heavy playing there before 
dinner?’" 

1 am positive there will. A Russian prince was admitted yes- 
terday, and he proposes to keep the bank to-night, 1 believe.” 

“In that case I shall not fail to be there. Au rewir,” concluded 
Listrac, shaking his friend’s hand cordially. 

Moulieres w'atched him as he moved away. 

” 1 have you now,” he muttered. “You will come to grief, and 
Clara will die of a broken heart, but you shall not marry the 
baroness.” 


CHAPTER 111. 

While the count was thus sinking deeper and deeper into the 
mire, the countess, happy in the thought of being able to save him, 
was making such arrangements as would insure the speedy sale of 
her magnificent home. 

This must be disposed of without . delay in order that George 
might be able to meet his obligations within the next twelve days, 
for it was now the 20th of January, and his account with his broker 
must be settled on or before the second day of the ensuing month. 

She was, therefore, firmly resohed to effect this sale, though it 
was by far the most painful of all the sacrifices necessitated by her 
husband’s reverses. 

Clara Monti had purchased the beautiful house on the Rue de Mon- 
ceau about two months before her marrriage, and paid for it out of 


32 


THE PEIMA DOKHA'S HUSBAKD. 


the liaDdsome private fortune gained by her voice. It was a new 
house that had never been occupied, and Clara had found no little 
enjoyment in furnishing it to suit her refined taste. During the 
five years she had resided in it she had devoted much thought and 
money to its embellishment, and it was now cited as a model of 
comfort and taste, and was worth much more than she had paid 
for it. 

Nevertheless, it might not be an easy task to find an immediate 
cash purchaser. One can not dispose of a furnished house as one 
disposes of a dress of which one has tired; nor can such a transac- 
tion be as summarily concluded as a bargain with a dealer in second- 
hand clothing. The services of a notary are required, a deed, and 
many tedious formalities. 

The countess knew all this by experience, but, for all that, she 
entertained strong hopes that there might be a way to avoid these 
difficulties. 

Her reconciliation with George was complete. His repentance had 
touched her, and his protestations had reassured her. She no longer 
doubted his Jove, or the stability of his good resolutions; and she al- 
most blessed the incident which had brought about an explanation 
between them. 

Her notary resided on the Rue Mont Thabor, and thither she re- 
paired about two o’clock, after a tete-d-tete breakfast with her hus- 
band, who had been prodigal in his lover-like attentions, but who 
had left her immediately after the repast, ostensibly to inform his 
broker that his account would be satisfactorily adjusted on the usual 
day. 

M. Jouin, the notary, of whom she proposed to make at least a 
partial confidant, was an old friend, and devoted to her. He had 
admired and applauded her often in years gone by; and, after she ^ 
renounced the stage to become a countess, he esteemed it an honor to * 
act as her legal adviser, and regretted that she did not oftener require 
his services. 

Mme. de Listrac reached his house almost at the very moment 
that George entered the usurer’s house on the Rue Godot, and was 
immediately ushered into his presence. 

M. Jouin, surprised and delighted to see her, lavished attentions 
and offers of service upon her; but as soon as she broached the object 
of her visit, he began to protest vehemently. He declared that the 
time was most unfavorable, that the furniture if sold at auction 
would not bring one third of its value; that the house itself would 
be worth one hundred thousand francs more in a year, and that -it 
would be folly to place it on the market during a financial panic that 
was unsettling values, and alarming the w’ealthiest in the land. 

“ It is a positive necessity that causes me to part with it,” said the 
countess, in response to these very sensible objections. 

“Good Heaven! can it be that you, too, were ruined by the 
crash?” 

“ No; but my husband has lost heavily; no more, however, than 
he is able to repay out of his ov;n private fortune; but we shall be 
obliged to reduce our expenses, and i do not feel able to keep up 
such a costly establishment.” 

“ Will you allow me to remind you, madame, that, by the provis- 


THE PRlxMA BOlsNAS HUSBAND. 


33 


ions ot youi marriage-contract, you are not responsible for Monsieur 
<ie Listrac’s debts. Your property is your own, and Monsieur de 
Listrac has not the slightest claim upon it.” 

” But 1 can dispose of it as 1 like.” 

” Certainly. You can even dispose ot your property without 
your husband’s consent. But it is my duty to call your attention to 
the tact that your tortune will be less safe when you have disposed 
ot the only real estate you own. Monsieur de Listrac has expensive 
tastes, and speculates a good deal, 1 am told. He can neither sell 
nor mortgage your house, but he will be almost certain to borrow 
money of you if you have any at your disposal.” 

” My husband has nothing to do with this matter, interrupted 
the countess, ever ready to defend George. ‘‘ It is 1 who need the 
money, and 1 have decided to sell my house. 1 apply to you because 
you told me quite recently that one of your clients wished to pur- 
chase it.” 

” That is true. Some one did offer me five hundred and forty 
thousand francs for your house, and even intimated a willingness to 
give as high as six hundred thousand. 1 very naturally replied that 
you had no idea of selling it.” 

” But you know who this person is? You have his address?” 

“Yes, madame, but 1 suppose he is only acting for some other 
party — a lady, 1 believe— a wealthy foreigner who has recently come 
to Paris to live and who must be very anxious to establish herself in 
desirable quarters without delay; for her agent declared that she 
■was willing to pay cash, on condition that she might take possession 
of the house immediately after the signing of the deed.” 

“ Very well; that is exactly what 1 desire; and 1 beg that you will 
communicate with your client at once. If the purchaser will pay 
cash for the property, 1 will accept the amount offered.” 

” I am almost certain that 1 can obtain more. So you have fully 
decided, madame?” 

“ Fully. 1 am anxious to conclude the sale as soon as possible, 
and 1 trust you will do everything in your power to expedite mat- 
ters.” 

‘ ‘ 1 shall comply with your instructions, of course, madame ; though 
you must allow me to again express my regret at the bad news you 
have just told me. 1 had heard that Monsieur de Listrac was specu- 
lating heavily, but 1 was not aware that his ventures in the stock 
market had terminated so disastrously.” 

‘‘ 1 thank you, monsieur; but it would annoy me greatly if people 
should exaggerate my husband’s losses; so pray say to any one who 
may speak to you on the subject that 1 sell my house entirely of my 
own accord.” 

“ 1 shall not forget that discretion is a notary’s first duty, madame,” 
was the reassuring reply; “ and 1 hope to have the honor of writing 
you to-morrow or next day, tfiat everything has been arranged to 
your satisfaction.” 

Mine, de Listrac went away, well satisfied with M. Jouin. She 
had expected objections, and he had made them, though only for 
form’s sake. He had endeavored to give her advice, but she had 
cut him short; and she departed assured of his zealous co-operation. 


34 


THE PRIMA DOKKA'S HUSBAND. 


The purchaser was fouDd, for there was nothing to lead any one to 
suppose that he had changed his mind. 

The die was cast; the sacrifice virtually made. In two days, 
George would hear that the house was sold, and his debts paid. 
"With what joy she would apprise him of the speedy conclusion of 
a negotiation which might have dragged for months. And how 
opportune was this success, coming as it did, while George was still 
under the softening influence of their recent reconciliation. It 
would, of course, be a sore trial for him to renounce the luxurious 
life he had heretofore led in Paris; but he must be an ingrate indeed, 
not to repay Clara’s devotion by an ardent tenderness and an an- 
swering fidelity. 

She would nut see him again that day until dinner-time; so she 
was in no haste to return home, and decided that she would pay a 
visit to the dowager, who had so recently troubled her peace of 
mind by reports that the countess now regarded as the basest 
slanders. 

The Marquise de Marjevols resided on the Rue de I’Universite, 
near the Rue de Solferino, so Clara., on leaving the office of her 
notary, had only to cross the garden of the Tuileries, and the 
bridge, to reach her relative. 

Although it was midwinter, the sky was clear, and the air mild — 
one of those exceptional days that bring the most phlegmatic Parisians 
from their fire-sides. A long line of carriages was moving down to 
the Rue de Rholi, on the wa}^ to the Bdis; the Terrasse des Feuil- 
lants was crowded with promenaders, and many children were play- 
ing in the broad path it shelters. One might have believed it spring- 
time. The orange flowers only were wanting. 

Clara, who had never known the joys of motherhood, always ex- 
perienced a feeling of envy on beholding the children of others; and 
instead of pausing to gaze at the charming picture, she hastily 
turned into the asphalt path leading to the quay. 

She walked rapidly, and was only about fifty paces from the 
bridge when she perceived Albert Dartige advancing toward her 
from the opposite direction. 

She did not wish to meet him, so, in order to avoid an embarass- 
ing explanation with her defender of the Cafe Anglais, she pretended 
not to see him, and crossed to the other side of the street. But he 
had recognized her, and she had scarcely reached the other side of 
the street when he, too, crossed it with the evident intention of join- 
ing her. 

Any attempt at flight would be ridiculous, so the countess paused 
and waited. M. Dartige, being a thoroughly well-bred man, bowed 
respectfully and began by apologizing tor the liberty he was now 
taking; but Clara could see by his face that a mere interchange of 
commonplaces was not going to content him; nor was it at all un- 
natural that he should be anxious to know the consequences of their 
late adventure. The countess, realizing the fact, therefore resolved 
to anticipate the questions already upon his lips. 

•“ Sir,” she said, in a voice that trembled slightly, “ 1 did not ex- 
pect to see you again ; but as chance has afforded me the opportunity, 
permit me to ask you to forget what has passed.” 

” You ask impossibilities,” replied Dartige, quickly. ” MTiat do 


THE PRIMA DONKA'S HUSBAND. 


35 


you mean by the word: ‘ forgpt ’? If you mean that 1 am not to 
noise the affair abroad, 1 am surprised that you should thus doubt 
my prudence and discretion. But my quarrel with Monsieur de 
Listrac must necessarily have its unpleasant consequences. 1 re- 
mained at home all the morning in the expectation of receiving a 
visit from his seconds, but—” 

” You will receive no such visit. My husband has admitted that 
he has no reparation to ask of you, having no just grounds of offense 
against you.” 

” That is really very fortunate, but 1 shall send my seconds to 
him, nevertheless. He insulted me grievously by his rudeness, and 
1 retrained from punishing him as he deserved, then and there, only 
because you were present.” 

” I am sure of that, and I am infinitely obliged to you for your 
consideration. But you will do even more for me. Y'ou will abstain 
from any step that will be likely to revi\e this absurd quarrel. 1 
was the only witness of the scene, consequently your self -respect has 
sustained no injury.” 

” There you are very much mistaken. 1 would a thousand times 
rather receive a public affront than be humiliated in your presence.” 

‘‘ 1 do not consider that you were subjected to any humiliation. 
You acted in the most honorable manner, and the whole affair was 
the result of a deplorable misunderstanding. My husband himself 
admits this, now.” 

” Then let him apologize.” 

Mme. de Listrac started yiolently. She had not foreseen that the 
affair would take this turn. She had regarded it only from her hus- 
band’s point of view, without thinking how Dartige might view the 
situation; but she now realized the necessity of an immediate and 
full explanation. 

” You are excited,” she said, gazing up at him with the large, 
dark eyes which had so troubled his peace of mind in years gone 
and which had lost none of their former beauty. “You have been 
my friend, and you are still my friend, 1 hope. May 1 speak to you 
frankly and without the slightest reserve?” 

“ Most assuredly.” 

“ Then let us leave this much-frequented street. We both have 
many acquaintances in Paris, and it is unnecessary that we should 
be seen talking in such a public place.” 

As Mme. de Listrac spoke she led the way to a more secluded 
path that skirts the plat of orange-trees — a quiet and shady path, 
well adapted to confidential conversation — forgetting that the 
promenaders on the terrace above could hardly fail to take them for 
two lovers. 

“Listen to me,” she continued, “and do not be surprised if 1 
remind you of a past that 1 am sure we both remember perfectly; 
and, above all, do not misunderstand my motive. 1 merely wish to 
prove to you that this past is dead— wholly dead, dead past all 
recall. You once loved me, 1 know — ” 

“ And you did not love me in return,” added Dartige, bitterly. 

“ That is true. 1 esteemed and liked you thoroughly, but 1 did 
not love you as you desired to be loved. Was that any fault of mine? 
Do you suppose that a woman can dispose of her heart. You know 


36 


THE PRIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAND. 


that no one can control one’s choice — you can not do it any more 
than 1 can. Love comes, or it does not come.’* 

“ It came for another, however.” 

“Yes, it was my fate; and you have no right to reproach me. 
1 was compelled to yield to a power stronger than my own will. 
Nor was it the first time 1 ever loved — why should 1 hesitate to tell 
you this ? It would have been different, very different, if the man 
I loved in my youth had not died. It was at Florence, when I had 
just made my debut that an artist and poet inspired me with a love 
he, returned. We were about to marry — the day for our union was 
appointed, when he was found one morning on the banks of the 
Arno with a dagger in his heart.” 

“ Does your husband know this?” inquired Dartige, ironically. 

“ Yes. Why should 1 have felt any desire to conceal it from 
him? Ten years had elapsed, and time is a great consoler. Of my 
first love, there remained only a bitter sweet memory. It was my 
destiny to love twme.” 

“ Why not three, or even four times?” 

“ The question is unworthy of you. if I had not entire confidence 
in you, 1 should not have shown myself to you as 1 reall}^ am. I 
believe that 1 was created to love, and 1 have a horror of deceit.” 

“ 1 liaise never regarded you as a coquette. But may 1 venture 
to ask what you are aiming at? All this has nothing whatever to 
do with my grievance against Monsieur Listrac, it seems to me. 
Would you have me understand that your married life is perfectly 
happy? Ah, well, faith in the partner of one’s life is certainly a 
very excellent thing. Every one is not so fortunate as to possess it, 
however.” 

“ 1 assure 3 "ou that my husband was perfectly innocent of any 
offense against me. He has explained his conduct to my entire sat- 
isfaction. 1 accused him unjustly. That being the case, 1 want 
you to promise me that you will let the matter drop, and that you 
will give up all idea of challenging him. If you should happen to 
be brought in contact with him 1 shall rely upon your promise.” 

“ I have promised nothing. 1 shall govern my conduct by his; 
that is all 1 can say. 1 fail to see what 1 shall gain by overlooking 
the insult 1 bore at the time only out of regard for you.” 

“You will gain my friendship.” 

“ 1 am no believer in friendship between a man and a woman. 
It is only a deception and a snare.” 

“lam ready to convince you to the contrary.” 

“ 1 do not care to make the experiment.” 

“ But what it I should tell you that 1 may need your friendship 
though you scorn mine? What if 1 should entreat yours? . If I 
should need a defender, would you refuse me .your aid?” 

“ No,” was the prompt reply; “ 1 shall be entirely at your serv- 
ice, as you know perfectly well. But 1 shall never have an oppor- 
tunity to serve you.” 

“ God alone knows what the future has in store for any of us.” 

“1 earnestly pray that he will save you from all sorrow; but if 
trouble should come, you may rely upon me. 1 have loved you, 
and still love you well enough to accept with gratitude any place in 
your life that you may see fit to give me. If we can be only 


THE PEIMA DO^^iq’A'S HUSBAND. 


37 


friends, so be it. Bat you can not prevent me from thinking of 
Slie pnst, and how 1 lost my heart the night 1 saw you for the hrst 
|lime in ‘Romeo and Juliet.' Do you remember the evening that 

C orked your first triumph in Vienna?” 

“Yes, 1 was young then. 1 tear that it 1 were now to appear in 
3 i61e of Juliet, in which 1 once achieved such success, no one 
ould applaud me.” 

‘‘You are mistaken, 1 am sure; besides, happy as you are now, 
ou can not be contemplating a return to the stage.” 

Who knows? 1 should have no other resouice if 1 lost my fort- 

‘‘ You speak as if you had reason to apprehend approaching ruin, 
an it be thatyour husband— ” 

You, of coarse, are not aware that every penny of my money 
s settled upon myself, at my husband's particular request. Now 
omise to do what 1 ask, and 1, in return, will promise to call 
pon you if any misfortune sbould befall me.” 

So be it. If you ever have need of me, a line directed to No. 
49 Rue de Bourgogne will be sure to reach me. '' 

I “1 will remember ihat, my friend,” said the countess, with a 
krong emphasis on the last word. “Now we must part. Our 
prolonged conversation will attract attention. There is one person 
watching us already. See.” 

‘‘ Who? that young lady over there on the bench?” 

‘‘Yes; she has not taken her eyes off us for some time.” 

' ‘‘ She is admiring you, doubtless.” 

‘‘ No, she probably sees that 1 am one of her countrywomen. Do 
you not see that she is an Italian?” 

” She is a brunette, and has regular features, it is true; but to 
conclude from that, that she comes from the home of Mignon— ” 

“ 1 ?m sure that 1 am right, and if we were anywhere but in a 
public garden, I should speak to her. But 1 must go. Farewell.”' 
‘‘No; au remir” 

Mme. de Listrac shook hands with him, and then walked rapidly 
away. He watched her sadly as she disappeared among the trees, 
then turned slowl}’’ toward the Place de la Concorde. 

As he passed the young girl who had attracted Clara's attention, 
the idea of questioning her suddenly occurred to him, aroused, pos- 
sibly, by a faint hope that a conversation with her might furnish 
him with a pretext for writing to Mme. de Listrac, for the old love 
was still too strong in his heart to make him willing to abandon all 
hope of seeing her or hearing from her again. 

Still, he very much doubted it the countess had judged aright in 
taking the young girl lor an innocent and unfortunate country- 
woman, and he was the more inclined to doubt it as the person in 
question was now gazing at him as attentively as she had gazed at 
the countess. 

Still, she did not smile nor seem in any way desirous of attract- 
ing his notice. On the contrary, her manner w as grave and thought- 
ful. Her jet black hair, her olive complexion, and her large dark 
eyes indicated her southern origin beyond any possibility of doubt, 
while her simple attire betokened an unmistakable want of means; 
but she was certainly very beautitul, though hers was a peculiar 


38 


THE PRIM A DONXA^S HUSBAHD. 


beauty which did not strike one at the first glance, but which Dar- 
tige could not fail to perceive on observing lier more closely, 

“ Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he said, pausing near the bench, 

1 have never had the pleasure of meeting you, but a lady who was 
just talking with me, and whom you seemed to be watching closely, 
bade me ask you if you knew her.” 

” No, sir. I was looking at her because 1 fancied that she was a 
countrywoman of rnine,” replied the young girl, in very excellent 
French. 

” The lady is an Italian.” 

” So am 1. 1 came from Florence. ” 

” Indeed? 1 thought by your features that you were a Homan.” 

“ My father was a Roman. That lady is too, probably. 1 
thought she looked not unlike me.” 

” You excited considerable interest on her part. She fancied that 
you were a stranger in Paris, and that she might be of service to 
you.” 

” She was right. 1 arrived here only this morning, and 1 know 
nothing about the city.” 

” But you doubtless have friends or relatives here?” 

‘‘No, sir.” 

” May 1 venture to ask what you expect to do?” 

” 1 hope to go upon the stage.” 

*‘ As a danseuse? ” 

” No, as an opera singer. I have a good voice, and 1 have studied 
haid under a good master who tells me that 1 am prepared to make 
my debut in either opera bouffe or opera.” 

” In that case, your instructor has probably given you a letter of 
recommendation to some manager.” 

” Not to a manager, but to one of his former pupils who has be- 
come quite celebrated, and who was a friend of my father’s. She 
lives in Paris, and I hope she will not refuse to aid me. Unfortu- 
nately, my professor did not know her address, but he supposed 
almost an5^body could give it to me. 1 inquired at the hotel where 1 
am stopping, however, and showed the proprietor my letter, but he 
knew nothing about the lady.” 

” But do you know this prima-donna?” inquired Dartige, seating 
himself by the young girl’s side. 

‘‘No, sir,” she replied, without the slightest embarrassment. “ 1 
Was but a child when she left Florence, and she has never been there 
since.” 

‘‘ How old are you, mademoiselle?” 

” Sixteen.” 

She looked much older, however. 

‘‘ And you were not afraid to undertake such a long journey 
alone?” 

*‘ My professor is a very old man, too old to accompany me.” 

‘‘ But why didn’t you make your debut in Florence?” 

‘‘ 1 did not wish to. My father left an honored name there, and, 
had he lived, he would never have consented to my going on the 
stage in. his native city.” 

‘‘ But he allowed you to study for the stage?” 

‘‘No, sir; 1 was an infant when 1 lost him. It was my own 


I • THE PRIMA DOKJnTA’S HUSBAi^^D. 39 

j choice — learning singing. My grandmother was bitterly opposed 
I to it, but she finally consented.” 

”1 understand,” said Dartige, shaking his head. ” You had no 
j fortune, and you had to live.” 

I ” Eo, that was not the reason, for though my father was not rich, 

' he left me enough to live upon. 1 fitted myselt for the profession 
purely from a love of it. ” 

i This reply, made without the slightest hesitation, and in a per- 
I fectly natural tone, wrought a still greater change in the opinion of 
her listener. 

i ” That is very fortunate,” he remarited, ” for if you were with- 
I out resources 1 hardly know what would become of you here in 
Paris. You are certainly pretty enough to find protectors, but—” 
j ”1 need no one’s assistance,” interrupted the girl, proudly. 

! ” Y’^ou will nevertheless be exposed to many dangers, especially 

in the profession you have chosen.” 

1 have no fear that 1 shall not be able to make those around me 
respect me. 1 was never subjected to insult at home.” 

” Paris is not Florence, mademoiselle,” said Dartige, smiling. 

The smile spoiled everything, for the young Italian entirely mis- 
took its meaning. 

*' If you mean that the first passer-by might venture to make love 
to a woman he had' never seen before,” she said, haughtily, ” 1 
should say, in reply, that 1 did not encourage you to speak to me, 
and that our conversation has lasted long enough.” 

” You misunderstand me, mademoiselle,” Dartige answered, 
eagerly. ” If 1 ventured to speak to you it was only to gratify a 
desire expressed by the lady who just left me. The lady is an 
Italian, as 1 said before, but she married a Frenchman, the Count 
de Listrac. My name is Albert Dartige, and 1 am a secretary of 
Legation. Do you think 1 would tell you all this if 1 had not im- 
plicit confidence in you and your statements?” 

The stranger looked at him searchingly, and saw that he was tell- 
ing the truth. 

” 1 believe you, sir,” she said, after a short silence, ” and as you 
have told me your name, 1 will tell you mine. My name is Andrea 
Yitellio. My father, Yitale Yitellio, was a painter and poet. He 
wrote a tragedy that will not soon be forgotten, and if you ever go 
to Florence, you will see two of his pictures in the church of Santa 
Maria Novell.” 

” 1 thank you for your confidence in me,” replied Dartige, who 
had never before heard of the great artist Yitellio or his works, 
” and if 1 can be of the slightest service to you, pi ay do not hesitate 
to say so. W ill you pardon me if I remark that it surprises me to 
hear you speak French with such purity of accent?” 

” My maternal. grandmother was a Frenchwoman; and 1 learned 
your language with my own.” 

” Thai is very fortunate, as you will have no difficulty in stating 
your case to the directors here. But one word of advice to begin 
with, in your country, any padrone would be able to give you full 
particulars in regard to any great singer you might be in search of; 
but in Paris hotel-keepers aremot so conversant with what is going 
on in the musical world; and 1 am not surprised that yours could 


40 


THE PRIMA DOisHA'S HUSBAND. 


give you no information when you showed him your letter. But 1 
will tell you a very simple way of ascertaining the lady’s address. 
You have only to ask the manager, or even the ticket -seller at any 
of our opera-houses.” 

” So they told me at my hotel. In fact, they recommended me 
to go to the Opera Comique, on the Boulevard des Italiens. 1 am 
stopping on the Rue de Beaune, and they told me that I had only 
to cro8s"^the Pont Royal and the garden of the Tuileries, and take 
the Rue de la Paix. 1 did not lose my way. but 1 tell in love with 
this great quiet garden. 1 love solitude. In Florence, I seldom or 
never went to the Caseine, but I used to spend hours in the Boboli 
gardens, where one sees nobody. After walking about for a while 
under the trees here, 1 finally seated myself upon this bench, and 1 
am not sorry that 1 lingered, as 1 have had the good fortune to 
excite the interest of one of my countrywomen. But it is time that 1 
resumed my walk, for I believe the opera-house is some distance 
from here.” 

” Not very far, mademoiselle; but perhaps 1 can give you the 
information you desire, and thus save you the trouble of going 
there. Have you the letter of introduction with you, and would 
you be willing to show it to me?” 

“ Certainly; here it is,” replied the gill, taking it from a small 
satchel she carried on her arm. “But 1 warn you that my pro- 
fessor writes a very poor hand, and that the address is in Italian.” 

“ 1 know enough of the language to decipher it, I think; besides, 
1 am familiar with the intensely polite appellations in use in your 
country. 1 would be willing to wager almost any amount that an 
all illmtrimma signora, prima-do7ina assohita figures in the ad- 
dress.” 

“You are quite right. See!” 

As she spoke, she handed Dartige an enormous square envelope, 
ornamented in each of the tour corners with musical emblems, lyres, 
flutes, and violins, and bristling with capitals traced by an unprac- 
ticed hand. Near the bottom was this vague address: '' Nel suo 
palazzo, a Parigi— 2 i\ her palace, in Paris ” 

On seeing this, Dartige was seized by a strong desire to laugh, 
w’hich deserted him, however, as soon as he perceived the name. 

“ Clara Monti!” he exclaimed, with a sudden change of tone and 
manner. “ It Was to Clara Monti that your professor recommended 
you?” 

“ Yes, to Clara Monti,” replied the girl, surprised at her com- 
panion’s evident astonishment. “You have heard of her, 1 see.” 

“ All Europe has heard of her.” 

“ 1 thought so.” 

“ And your singing-master could not tell you what had become 
of her?” 

“ He only knew that she left the stage some years ago, and is 
now residing in Paris.” 

“ But didn’t he tell you why she renounced the stage?” 

“ No; he never reads the papers, and leads a very secluded life. 
1 supposed that she had married.” 

“ She is married.” ' 

“ And consequently must have changed her name.” 


THE PKIMA DOE ha’s HUSBAND. 


41 


I 

! “Yes. She is a countess now.” 

I “So much the better. She has been fortunate, and happiness 
I makes one kind to others. She will receive me all the more cor- 
dially.” 

I ’* 1 do not doubt it; but her husband—” 
i “ Why should he treat me coldly?” 

“ Because your presence will remind him of his wife’s past. He 
would like to forget that his wife was ever a singer.” 

■ “ She has no cause to blush for it. 1 have often heard my old 

professor say that Clara Monti’s life had always been irreproacha- 
ble ” 

I “ Fashionable people have their prejudices. Besides, did you not 
' tell me, only a moment ago, that your father, if he had lived, would 
never have allowed you to go on the stage?” 

“ But no one is ignorant of the fact that Clara Monti has sung in 
Vienna, Madrid, and St. Petersburg.” 

“ That is true, but she sings nowhere now, and has broken off 
all connections with impresarios. But are you sure that your letter 
will have much weight with her? If she has lost sight of your in- 
structor for fifteen years or more, it is quite likely that she has 
almost forgotten the worthy man.” 

“ Then she must 1 e very ungrateful, for it was he, Cesare Quag- 
lia, who made her what she is; and even though she may have for- 
gotten him, she certainly has not forgotten my father.” 

“Was she well acquainted with him?” 

“ So well that my father painted her in one of the pictures now 
in the Santa Maria Novella.” 

A suspicion, for which he instantly blushed, hashed through the 
mind of Dartige. Was it not more than probable that this girl of 
sixteen, who had come from Florence, was bound to Clara by a 
much closer and more tender tie? 

These reflections were interrupted by Andrea. 

“ 1 am very grateful for your advice,’- she remarked, “but it 
you would give me Clara Monti’s address, 1 should be still more 
deeply indebted to you. If you do not know her address, you must 
know the name she now bears, as you just told me that she had 
married a count. Do me the favor to tell me her name; and 1 am 
quite sure that I need trouble you no further.” 

Dartige dreaded the consequences of this young girl’s proposed 
visit to Mme. de Listrac. What would the count say if he should 
happen to be with his wife when this young Italian presented a 
letter which perhaps contained allusions to events of which he was 
ignorant? The countess had assured him that happiness and peace 
now reigned in her household; but Dartige suspected that the wish 
was father to the thought. The slightest incident might renew the 
old discord, and the countess would never forgive him if he were 
even the indirect cause of it. At all events, Mme. de Listrac must 
be warned, in order that she might be prepared to receive her un- 
bidden guest, or to close her doors against her, according as she 
saw fit. 

“ 1 am sure that your intentions are most laudable, mademoiselle,” 
Dartige at last replied, cautiously; “ but 1 am sure that this lady ia 
obliged to exercise great prudence since her marriage, and that she 


42 


THE PEIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


will be giateful to me if 1 apprise her of your intended visit. I see 
her occasionally, and 1 am a devoted admirer of hers, so I will 
repeat to her the conversation 1 have just had with you; and she 
will, 1 am sure, either appoint a time for your visit or call upon 
you. Would you be willing to intrust your letter to me for de- 
livery?” 

“No,” was the frank reply. “I wish to deliver it in person. 
Indeed, 1 was particularly requested to do so by the writer.” 

“ That being the case, ! will return it to you,” said Dartige, re- 
ftorins: the imposing-looking envelope to the girl. “It is not 
strange that you do not like to trust me with it, for you know 
nothing about me, and have no reason to believe in my sincerity. 
But you can tell me your address with perfect safety. Clara Monti 
shall be informed of it, through me, and I give you my word of 
honor that you will either receive a call or a letter from her within 
two days.” 

“So be it,” replied the girl, without any apparent hesitation. 
“ I am stopping at No. 22 Kue de Beaune. 1 will wait two days.” 

“ lhank you. As a proof of my sincerity, 1 will add that if I 
should fail to keep my promise, you would not have the slightest 
difficulty in ascertaining the adjlress of the countess. Her present 
address is well known at every opera-house in Paris; in fact, it is 
so widely known inat if you should write to her without mention- 
ing the street, your letter would reach its destination. 

“ 1 will also add that I shall not take the liberty of calling on 
you, but here is my card, and if 1 can be of any service to you, do 
not hesitate to let me know.” 

The young Italian took it without even glancing at it and 
dropped it into the satchel with her precious letter. 

“Farewell, sir,” she said, with quiet dignity. “1 trust 1 shall 
not have cause to regret my confidence in you.” 

And she moved away, leaving Dartige greatly excited and per- 
plexed. He had started out with the intention of paying a visit to 
his club, in which he had not set toot for five years, but of which 
he was still a member, having never failed to remit his yearly dues 
from gt. Petersburg. 

In his present state of mind, he would have preferred to postpone 
his visit until the next day; but the club was much nearer than the 
liue Bourgogne where he lived,' and he was anxious to write to 
Mme. de Listrac at once. He was likewise desirous of learning 
something about the life the Count de Listrac was leading, and by 
adroitly questioning some of his old friends he might succeed in 
doing this. 

The afternoon had passed quickly, thanks to these unexpected 
meetings, and it was nearly nightfall when Dartige reached the club 
house. 

The first rooms he entered were well-nigh deserted; but walking 
on in search of some familiar face, he finally found himself in the 
room specially reserved for baccarat, and here a goodly company 
was assembled. 

Customs have changed at the clubs within the past few years. 
The members keep earlier hours. There are still men who play 
until broad daylight, but the majority of the members play between 


li THE PKIMA DONHA’S HUSBAND. 43 

Ij the hours of four and seven, and one can easily impoverish one’s 
!| self before dinner. 

; There was such a crowd about the table that Dartige was at first 
l' unable to see any of the players; but he at last succeeded in catch- 
[ ing a glimpse of the gentleman who was keeping the bank-—a very 
I tall, spare man, with a cadaverous face, and an enormous sandy 
mustache. 

A new member, probably, for Dartige felt sure that he had never 
seen him before. 

On his right, and only a little distance from him, sat M. de Lis- 
trac, whom Dartige had no difficulty in recognizing. He was deeply 
engrossed in the game, and seemed to be winning, for there was a 
large pile of many colored cnips in front of him. 
i “Poor countess!” thought Dartige. “This man deceived her 
last night, and to-night he is playing a game that may reduce her 
to penury at any moment, for 1 don’t belive a word she told me 
I about her fortune being settled on herself. And yet she thinks he 
loves her!” 

Just then some one tapped him on the shoulder, and, turning, 
Dartige found himself face to face with a friend of former years, 
whom he had not seen since his departure for Russia, but who looked 
as hale and hearty as ever. 

Club life preserves men until it kills them. They do not die like 
other men. They disappear some fine day, but they never fall ill 
and take to their beds. 

“Well, here you are at last!” he exclaimed. “Let me look at 
you. Aou are not frozen. No; your nose is in its place, and your 
I ears are not missing. You don’t look a year oldei, either.” 

“ But you, Chantal, have grown younger,” replied Dartige, laugh- 
ing. “How do you manage it? My limbs are all right, but my 
heart is a hundred years old.” 

“ Provided the rest of you is only twenty-five, so much the bet- 
ter. But what are you talking about your heart here for? People 
will laugh at you. But how did you enjoy yourself in St. Peters- 
burg?” 

“ Tolerably well. The Russians are pleasant enough; but unfort- 
unately there are too many Germans there.” 

“ No more than there are in Paris. Have you a long leave of 
absence?” 

“ Six months, and longer if 1 like.” 

“ Good! We shall have time to become acquainted again. You 
must find the club greatly changed.” 

“ The fact is, 1 see hardly any one here that 1 know; and if 1 had 
not met you, 1 should have gone before now. Tell me about some 
of these new members. Who is that tall fellow that is keeping the 
bank? He reminds me of Don Qixote.” 

“ He is no Spaniard, however, but a Pole, and a very wealthy 
banker; and whether he wins or loses, he never even winks. 1 have ^ 
never beard him utter a sound. The only sign of emotion he ever 
gives is to allow the cigar that never leaves his lips to go out.*” 

“ He must be losing, then.” 

“ Yes. Such a thing does not often happen; but Listrac does 
seem to be getting the better of him this evening.” 


44 


THE PEIMA DO]S'NA's HUSBAHD. 


“ Are you acquainted with Listrac?” 

“ No; I only knovr him by sight; 1 met him several j^ears ago in 
Vienna; but we did not take to each other. Quite the contrar}'^.” 

“ In "V ienna? There is where he married 

“ A singer, 1 believe/' said partige, with pretended indifference. 

'‘Exactly; he married the Monti, and a very foolish act it was 
on the diva’s part. All great cant atrices are as stupid as owls. This 
one made oceans ot mouey by her talent, and was as free as air; but 
she gave up the stage, and risked her fortune for the sake of becom- 
ing Sladame la Comtesse.” 

“ Risked her fortune? Why, Listrac is reputed to be wealthy, is- 
he not?” 

” He was; but he is not rich now. He has ruined himself com- 
pletely by rash speculations, and he is not likely to retrieve bis losses 
by baccarat. It is more than likely, therefore, that the Monti’s gold 
will take to itself wings, especially as she is absurdly in love with 
him!” 

“ And doesn’t he care for her?” inquired Dartige, eagerly. 

” He was very much in love with her at one time, they say, and 
1 believe they lived very happily together for awhile; but his affec- 
tion seems to have cooled, and for several months past he has been 
about a little Baroness de Benserade, whom you may recollect, per- 
haps?” 

” The one whose husband was killed in a duel by Gravigny?” 

” The same.” 

” But what does Listfac’s wife have to say about this infatuation 
on the part of her husband?” 

“ Sne is ignorant of it, probably. The matter has been kept pretty 
quiet, but there will be a tremendous scandal one of these days, for 
he is beginning to lake less pains to conceal his folly. Last even- 
ing, for instance, or rather, last night, the baroness called here for 
him, and they went off to the Cafe Anglais, to supper, as openly as 
if he were still a bachelor. What do you think ot that?” continued 
the skeptical Chantal. ” Do you think that morals have improved 
much since your departure?” 

” I think that Monsieur de Listrac is acting like a contemptible 
scoundrel, especially if the countess does not pay him back in his 
own coin.” 

” Oh, there is no danger of that! She is a paragon of virtue. I 
know a dozen men who have paid court to her, but who have had 
their labor tor their pains. Do you see that middle-aged rcan over 
there, leaning over Listrac’s shoulder, and watching his play?” 

” Yes; he has a very unprepossessing face.” 

” He is quite a lady’s man, for all that. His name is Raoul de 
Moulieres. No one knows his origin, though he pretends to be a 
nobleman. He is Listrac’s evil genius, and a particular friend of 
the baroness. But look, this is something new! The Pole is rising. 
He must have lost heavily, for it is only five o’clock, and he is not 
in the habit of leaving until all the other players desert him. Lis- 
trac, too, is getting up, loaded with gold. 1 wonder if he will de- 
vote his mouey to paying his margins?” 

The banker had given up his seal; but the count did not seem dis- 
posed to take possession of it, for he moved away, followed b}^ the 


THE PEIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAHD. 45 

faithful Moulieres, who wore an even more triumphant air than 
Listrac. 

Dartige saw them take their stand in a distant corner, and if he 
could have overheard their conversation, he would have been able to 
gain a pretty thorough understanding of the dangers that threatened 
Clara. 

“Bravo! my dear fellow, ’’ said Moulieres. “Aou must have 
won six or seven thousand louis.” 

“ Six thousand six hundred,” replied Listrac. 

“You must not fail to report your good fortune to Madame de 
Benserade,but she would be even better pleased if you would dine 
with her this evening.” 

“ Impossible. My wife made me promise to dine at home; but 1 
shall call on the baroness later in the evening, AV hat pleases me 
more than all else in the victory 1 have just gained, is that 1 shall 
be able to take up, to-morrow, the notes 1 gave to Menager. ” 

“ Take them up? And why, pray?” 

“ Because — because I do not care to leave them in his hands.” 

“ Why should you object to that? They will not leave his safe, 
and you can pay them when they become due, that is, in three 
months.” 

“ At the expiration of three months 1 may not be as well able to 
pay them as I am now, perhaps, so I had better do it while 1 have 
the money.” 

“ Take care, my dear fellow, Menager’s money has brought you 
good luck ; but nothing brings misfortunes down upon a person like 
paying debts before they become due. Besides, 1 don't believe that 
Menager will allow you to take the notes up.” 

“ He must certainly be insane it he refuses the money. Why, he 
would receive five thousand francs as interest tor a loan of only 
forty-eight hours. He surely ought to be more than satisfied.” 

“Any one else would be, but 1 know Menager. He is a very 
methodical man, and all his notes are carefully filed away in the 
order of their dates in his safe, and he can not bear to take them out 
until the day arrives for their collection. 1 only tell you this to save 
you from unnecessary trouble. There is nothing to prevent you 
from trying however.” 

“ That is exactly what I intend to do. Can’t I count upon your 
assistance?” 

“ ] will see him for you this evening, if you wish; but 1 warn you 
in advance that I shall not be successful. Besides, have you re- 
flected that it you pay these notes now, Madame de Listrac, who 
indorsed them, will ask an explanation? In that case, you would 
be obliged to confess that you are in the habit of gambling, and that 
the money to pay these notes was obtained in that way.” 

“ That makes no difference to me. 1 have no idea of allowing 
my wife to control my actions. See Menager for me, and try to in- 
duce him to consent to the immediate payment of the notes.” 

“ I will try,” answered Moulieres, shaking his head dubiously. 

He thought: 

“ Yes ; 1 will see him, but it will be to forbid the surrender of the 
notes. 1 want them presented to hiBwifeso she can tell us whether 
the indorsement is genuine or not.” 


46 


THE PKIHA DOiTHA'S HUSBAND. 


Just then Dartige and Chantal emerged from the crowd around 
the table. On perceiving the former, the count turned pale with 
anger, but he controlled himself. The place was not well adapted 
for an explanation ; besides, he did not care for Moulieres lo hear it. 
Dartige had promised not to provoke a quarrel, so he moved away, 
and both gentlemen confined themselves to an interchange of looks; 
but the Count de Lislrac was the first to lower his eyes. 

“ You do not seem to have any great love for each other,” re* 
marked Chantal, in a whispered aside. 

Dartige made no reply. He 'was thinking of Mme. de Listrac, 
and he said to himself : 

” 1 was going to write to her, but that will not suffice. 1 shall 
see her, even in defiance of her wishes. 1 will see her, and she shall 
know the true character of this man, for whose sake she rejected 
me!” 


CHAPTER IV. 

About noon, on the day following that of Dartige’s conversation 
with Andrea Vitellio, in the garden of the Tuileries, Mme. de Lis- 
trac was walking through her conservatory. 

This conservatory was a veritable winter-garden, whose arrange- 
ment she had carefully superintended in person. 

She had collected there almost every variety of tropical vegeta- 
tion, and so luxuriant was the growth, tfiat one might almost fancy 
one’s self in a virgin forest. But this apparent disorder was only a 
carefully studied artistic effect. The walks were of the finest sand, 
and comfortable seats abounded. 

A fountain played in a marble basin in the midst of this verdure, 
a babbling brook danced along among the flowers, and at the further 
end of the magnificent conservatory was a large aviary filled with 
rare birds. 

It had been Clara’s favorite retreat in the happy days when 
George had loved her with an undivided affection; and there she 
had spent entire days, even in winter, for the temperature was al- 
ways that of summer, and every ray of sunshine found its way there. 

The sun was shining brightly that day, and the place was gay 
with flowers, but poor Clara’s heart was heavy indeed. She had 
received that same morning a letter from her notary, informing her 
that the sale of the house had been concluded at five hundred and 
ninety thousand francs, payable in eight days, upon the sole con- 
dition that the purchaser should take possession of the mansion and 
its appurtenances on the day of payment. 

M. Jouin had not mentioned the name of the would-be purchaser, 
but lie assured the countess that the solvency of the party was un- 
questionable and advised her to accept the terms in writing, without 
delay. 

Clara had done so, though not without bitter tears, for she was 
deeply attached to this house in which the first years of her married 
life had been spent. 

The thought of saving her husband from dishonor could alone 
mitigate the bitterness of this sacrifice, and she already felt com- 
pensated for it to some extent, at least, for George seemed to have 


47 


THE PEIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAISTD. 

returned to his allegiance; but it was nevertheless hard to give up 
her home, and she now took a melancholy pleasure in revisiting this 
favorite nook and these rare plants which she w'ould never see again. 

There was not a single object here that was not endeared to her 
by some pleasant association. How often she and George had sat 
hand in hand upon that rustic sofa! How many times she had 
listened to the melody of the feathered songsters with her head rest- 
ing upon her husband’s shoulder. How often they had paced these 
pleasant walks together, with George’s arm fondly encircling her 
waist while he murmured loving words in her willing ear! 

And now Clara asked herself sadly if these happy hours would 
ever return, for George, though he was apparently endeavoring to 
make amends for liis former coldness, was no longer the same man. 
There was a shadow of constraint in his manner and language that 
the almost exaggerated ardor of his caresses could not always con- 
ceal ; and even in his fondest moments, Clara was tormented by a 
vague suspicion that he was thinking of another, for in cases like 
this, women are guided by an instinct that rarely deceives them. 

Blind though she was, Clara did not feel completely reassured. 
A vague presentiment of coming trouble haunted her, and some- 
times, as George's lips approached hers, it seemed to her that a face 
rose between them to intercept the uiiss. 

This face was always the hated face of the Baroness de Benserade, 
and though she had done her oest to persuade herself that George 
did not care for this odious creature, and that his protestations of 
affection were sincere, the nightmare often returned. 

At that very moment it was still oppressing her, and her recent 
visit to the Marquise de Marvejols recurred to her mind again and 
again. That lady persisted in the charges against her cousin with 
all the stubbornness of an old woman who has but few ideas, but 
who clings to those she has. She furnished no proofs of the truth of 
her assertions, but she repeated again and again : “ Be on your guard, 
my dear. The Listracs have always deceived their wives, and have 
not unfrequently ruined them. It is in the blood, and George will 
prove no exception to the rule.” 

Dartige was evidently of the same opinion though he expressed 
himself with greater reserve. 

On the evening following their meeting in the garden of the Tuil- 
eries, he had called and asked to see her; but the countess had sent 
word that she was engaged, and he had gone away after telling the 
footman that he would write to his mistress. 

The promised letter had not made its appearance, and Clara had 
made up her mind not to answer it if it came. 

By way of compensation, Dartige had kept his promise in regard 
to his quarrel with the count, for the latter had received no chal- 
lenge, and he had taken good care not to tell his wife that he had 
met his enemy in the club-house where he had solemnly promised 
never to set foot again. 

He had even more carefully abstained from telling her of his 
enormous gains. He had even accepted the check that she had 
given him to pay his so-called debts of honor, and this nobleman 
who had just won one hundred and thirty thousand francs from the 
Polish banker, in less than an hour, never thought of offering the 


48 THE PKIMA DOHNA’S HUSBAKD. 

money to his wife to indemnify her in part for the sale of her 
house. 

Clara, i^rnorant of all this, thought only of devising means to pre- 
serve him as much as possible from the annoyances that must in- 
evitably result from the great change in their circumstances. 

The "fashionable Count de Listrac would soon find himself reduced 
to a comparatively humble mode of living. The renting of apart- 
ments in a much less fashionable neighborhood was now an absolute 
necessity, as well as the furnishing of them in a style suitable to the 
altered means of their occupants. In short, it was now necessary 
to live on an income of thirty thousand francs, affeiTiving for years 
upon an income of one hundred and twenty thousand, which had 
scarcely sufficed to meet their expenses, and as a natural conse*^. 
quence their horses, carriages and retinue of servants must be dis- 
pensed with, unless they wisely resolved to retire to the country as 
Clara desired. She had already suggested this exodus to her hus- 
band, but though he had not absolutely refused, George had turned 
a deaf ear to the proposal, and the brave woman had made up her 
mind to endure that mediocrity, which is a hundred times harder to 
bear in the city than in the country. 

In short, she was resigned to anything except the intolerable 
thought of a rival. She would rather die than submit to that degra- 
dation, and the mere idea of such a thing awakened the most violent 
resolves. 

These gloomy thoughts did not haunt Clara there in her winter 
g&rden, however, for the soothing .influence of her surroundings 
gradually asserted itself and she finally began to feel calm and even 
hopeful. She gathered some camellias with the intention of pre- 
senting them to George, who had a fondness for scentless flowers as 
for heartless women. He had promised to return early lo dine, and 
spend the evening with her, and she was already planning to make 
herself beautiful in his eyes, and to sing some of his favorite airs, 
among them the famous, ''Ah, je n’i pu m’en deferidre,'' from 
the first act of “ Komeo et Juliette,'’ in which she bad achieved 
such success on the stage, and which would remind him of her 
former triumphs. 

These pleasing illusions were disturbed by the entrance of a foot- 
man. 

“ A lady wishes to see the house, madame,” he announced. 

Mme. de Listrac, greatly astonished, suddenly recollected that her 
notary had spoken of a lady’s desire to purchase the house, and sup- 
posed that this was the person who now wished lo inspect it, though 
rather late in the day, as it had been disposed of the evening before. 

“ Did the lady give her name?” she inquired. 

‘‘Yes, madame. She told me twice that she was the Baroness de 
Benserade.” 

This announcement was so startling that Mme. de Listrac thought 
she must have misunderstood him. 

” You must be mistaken,” she replied, ” I am not acquainted 
with that lady. ” 

” Pardon me, madame, but I am sure that was the name.” 

“ Then tell her that X never see strangers,” was the quiet though 
haughty reply. ^ 


THE PEIMA DOKHA'S HUSBAND. 


49 


“ The lady added that she would be very sorry to disturb madame, 
nd that she only wished to see the interior of the house while 
dame was in the garden.” 

I This announcement completed Mme. de Listrac’s exasperation, 
^Tor she suddenly recollected that the notary on informing her of the 
Conclusion of the transaction, had failed to mention the name of 
^e purchaser. Nothing whatever had been said about Mme. de 
Bteiserade. Had her name been even mentioned in connection with 
matter, the countess would have cut the negotiations short at 
once. 


I But whether this baroness was the purchaser or not, Clara was 
I ^t the woman to recoil, so turning to the servant, she said quietly: 

, r ” Very well, tell the lady that she has my permission to go 
ihrough the house, and then bring her to the conservatory without 
lulling her that 1 am here. You can accompany her as far as the 
^or, and then leave us alone together.” 

I The footman withdrew and Mme. de Listrac nerved herself to 
Beet her enemy. 

II Pale with indignation, and trembling with anger she stepped be- 
Ifcnd a clump of camellias which would partially conceal her from 
(flew, without preventing her from seeing the approach of the odious 
;l»roness. 

' The conservatory occupied a corner of the garden, and to enter it 
from the court-yard, one was obliged to walk the whole length of it. 
Mme. de Benserade had been admitted at the gatev^ay on the Rue 
de Monceau, and had consequently walked around the house v;ith- 
out passing through it, so she now approached the conservatory by 
I the longest way, instead of directly from the mansion. 

The countess therefore had ample lime to notice her rival’s man- 
ner and toilet. Clara had often seen her in the Bois, or at the thea- 
ter, but had never nad an opportunity to look at her so closely. 

She did not walk, this baroness, but strutted along, with her 
nose high in the air, casting sharp glances on every side, and star- 
ing a the windows of the mansion. Hers was a triumphal entry, 
the entry of a chatelaine who sets foot upon her domain for the first 
lime. 

She was dressed not tastefully, but audaciously after the fashion, 
not of to-day, but of to-morrow, or rather of next season. Imita- 
tions of tapestry being the fabric most in vogue, she W'ore a rich 
brocade that was thickly inwrought with thread of gold, and that 
looked exactly like furniture covering. Feminine head-gear being 
a triumph of the taxidermist’s rather than the milliner’s art, hers 
was composed of the breast of some gorgeous bird with the soft- 
curling neck feathers for a border, and the head for a trimming. 
Though the winter was exceedingly mild, furs were the rage; her 
wrap was of Siberian squirrel elaborately trimmed with blue fox. 

Clara Monti was clad in a white cashmere wrapper, buttoned high 
in the throat, and her heavy braids of magnificent black hair were 
her only ornament. 

She was beautiful. Her rival was only pretty, but she knew how 
to bewitch men, w hile Clara only knew how to love. 

*‘ The garden is not very large, but it is very well kept,” Clara 
heard the baroness say, though whether she was talking to herself 


50 


THE PEIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


or to the footman who was following her at a respectful distance, 
the countess was unable to determine. '‘This conservatory looks I 
promising. 1 must see if it is as tastefully arranged within as with- 
out. However, it is probable that I shall make a good many 
changes, as the house is not very likely to suit me in all respects.” 

This disparaging remark brought the blood to the cheeks of the 
countess who still refused to believe the evideuce of her own senses. 
It seemed to her that this woman was trying to insult her by thus 
talking as if the house belonged to her; and taking a step forward, 
she suddenly confronted the audacious visitor. 

The footman, in obedience to the orders he had received, hastily 
withdrew, and the two rivals were left standing face to face, like 
two duelists. 

Juliette did not flinch. She had certainly foreseen the encounter. 
Perhaps she had even sought it, for it is hardly likely that she had 
followed the servant without suspecting that he was conducting her 
into his mistress’ presence. • 

Clara was equally composed. She had one advantage over the 
baroness. She was in her own house, and consequently had a right 
to ask this intruder what had brought her there. But this begin- 
ning would only be a skirmish preparatory to the real combat. 

“lam utterly at a loss to divine the object of your visit, madame,” 
she said, coldly. 

“Excuse me, madame,” said Mme. de Benserade, undismayed 
by this freezing reception. “ 1 ought to have written and apprised 
you of my intention of calling to-day. It would have been more 
courteous, 1 know% but 1 had not time. 1 did not learn until last 
evening that the sale had been concluded, and 1 was very anxious, 
1 admit, to see the property I had purchased without examining it, 
and purely on the strength of the description given by some one 
who is well acquainted with it. 1 was unfortunate in the selection 
of ray time, but if 1 intrude 1 will withdraw, only begging you to 
appoint a day and hour at which 1 can call again without disturb- 
ing you.” 

All this was said in a perfectly natural tone, as if the matter in- 
volved was the most, trivial possible. 

The heart of the countess sunk within her. 

“ Did you say you had purchased this house?” she asked. 

“ Certainly. Were you not aware of the fact? The person who 
acted as my agent signed the papers last evening, after seeing the 
written consent you had sent to your notary.” 

“ I did accept the conditions he made known to me, but I was 
ignorant of the purchaser’s name.” 

“ The name makes no difference, it seems to me.” 

“ You may think so, but 1 do not; and you will need no better 
proof of it than the fact that J withdraw my consent. I wish to 
sell my house, but not to you.” 

“ That is not very flattering to me, but you must permit me to 
say that it is too late for you to change your mind.” 

“ I shall see my notary immediately, and tell him that 1 will not 
consent to the sale.” 

“You no longer have the right lo do it, madame. I am fully 
informed on this subject. I can not take possession of the property 


ir''' THE PRIM A HUSBAND. 51 

the money is paid, but it is ready. Payment will be made on 
'•™e 29th, and I am now the owner of the property.” 

':\]V ” In spite of me? We will see.” 

I [ ” You will see, madame. If you are resolved upon a lawsuit, so 
I W it- I shall not relinquish my claim, and 1 have the law on my 

i le. 1 have had legal advice on this point.” 

Clara Monti was absolutely ignorant of the laws that govern real 
ate, and she began to understand what her haste had cost her. 
e had given her notary full power to act for her in this matter, 
d M. Jouin could not know that his client was anxious to sell to 
7 person whatsoever, except Mme. de Benserade. But although it 
gilt be too late to retract what she had so imprudently done she 
olved that she would instantly check the impertinence ot this in- 
ent baroness who was taking advantage of this opportunity to 
miliate her. 

t; ‘ 1 shall enter into no legal contest with you, madame,” she said, 
|lliaughtily. ” We should not be equally matched, and 1 should lose 
I too much by it, even if 1 should gain my suit, for it would be the 
: 4rst time my name was ever dragged into the courts.” 
j! ! ” Then you never had any unfortunate differences with the man- 
'l|prs who hired you to sing?” inquired Mme. de Benserade, with 
:an insolent affectation of interest. 

! This was the signal for open hostilities. After this declaration 
Jof war the countess need hesitate at nothing. 

I “No more than you have had with your numerous lovers, I sup- 
Ipose,” she replied, with withering scorn. 

‘‘You are very much mistaken,” the baroness replied, with un- 
ruflaed composure. ”1 often have them. Ask your husband if 
you do not believe me. We had a violent quarrel only yesterday.” 
i Clara, though cut to the quick, conquered the emotion that al- 
most choked her. 

” So Monsieur de Listrac is one ot your devoted admirers?” she 
: said, coldly. 

”1 am surprised that you are not aware ot the tact. All Paris 
i knows that he is desperately in love with me,” retorted Mme. de 
[Benserade with unparalleled assurance. “After what occurred at 
lithe Cafe Anglais the other evening you ought to have no further 
i doubts on the subject. You got the best of me that evening. The 
B&unt still has some scruples, and to avoid a scene 1 relinquished 
Itim to you. To-day I am having my revenge.” 

, “ Was it my husband who advised you to purchase the house 1 
llave just sold to pay his debts?” 

* “ No, 1 have not consulted him, and 1 shall pay for it with my 
own money. But even if he had given me the money, what busi- 
ness is it of yours? George is rich, richer than you are, and he has 
ia perfect right to dispose of his fortune as he chooses.” 

! To hear George’s name thus familiarly mentioned by this woman 
exasperated Clara bej’^ond endurance. 

“ Leave this house; leave it instantly!” she exclaimed, in a low 
tone of concentrated rage and contempt, and pointing imperiously 
to the door. 

“ Very well, 1 am going,” sneered the baroness, “ 1 shall have 
plenty of time to examine the house after you leave it. Don’t tor- 


52 


THE PEIMA DOKNA^S HUSBAISTD. 


get that the money will be paid over to your notary on the 29th of 
January, and that 1 shall take possession of my new home on the 
following day. You must make your preparations to move the day 
before, that is, unless you prefer to leave me the furniture. 1 might 
consent to lake it — 1 don’t know. People tell me you have tolerably 
good taste, and if you will sell me the furniture 1 shall only have ! 
my clothing to bring.” 

Speechless with rage, Clara advanced a step toward the heartless 
creature who. thus insulted her, and gave her a look that made 
Mme. de Benserade recoil, and then beat a final retreat, thougli riot 
without sending a Parthian shaft at her rival. 

“ 1 see that we shall not come to a satisfactory understanding,” 
she remarked, “but 1 shall hold you to the bargain already con- 
cluded, and you must move on the 28th. 1 must go now, as 1 am ' 

expecting a call from your husband this morning.” | 

Hrne. de Listrac watched her as she strutted away, and when the I 
baroness had disappeared around a turn of a path the poor betrayed, : 
heart-broken creature sunk halt fainting upon a seat in the con- | 
servatory. 

Her rage and indignation had changed to profound despair, and ! 
she burst into tears. The hopes she had based upon her husband’s ! 
protestations of repentance crumbled away. Her life was ended. 

George had deceived her, while pretending to still love her. 
George had supped at the Cafe Anglais with this unscrupulous 
creature, and to excuse himself had invented a story which no child i 
would have believed. He had sunk to such depths of degradation i 
as to sell his caresses, for in seeking a reconciliation his only object I 
had been to extort money from his wife. | 

And with what refined cruelty he removed the mask only two ' 
days after he attained his object, for whatever his accomplice might 
say to the contrary he could not be ignorant of the fact that she had 
purchased the house on the Rue de Monceau, and his heart had not 
revolted at the thought that she was going to take his wife's place 
in the home where their honeymoon had been spent. 

This last exhibition of heartlessness seemed so incredible that the 
countess could scarcely believe it; besides, a little reflection con- 
vinced her that however great her husband’s infatuation for the 
Baroness de Benserade might be it was greatly to his interest to re- 
main on good terms with his wife, or in other words, not to kill the 
goose that laid the golden eggs. 

His account with his broker was not yet settled, and there was 
nothing to prevent his wife from keeping the money derived from 
the sale of the house instead of giving it to him in accordance with 
his expectations. 

Clara did not know that George had won very large sums of 
money at the card-table within the past three days, an(fwas conse- 
quently in a position to repair his losses at the Bourse by his w'in- ; 
nings from the Polish banker, and that, carried away by his infatua- ' 
tion for Juliette de Benserade he was already wondering if he 
should not abandon his wife as soon as she had paid his debts. 

Clara could not conceive of such infamy as this, but in spite of 
the illusions she still cherished she resolved to have an interview j 
with her husband— an interview which should be the last if heJ 


53 


THE PRIMA DOHNA’S HUSBAisD. 

i 

; failed to vindicate Bimself completely. This time she would notallow 
: herself to be duped by his apparent tenderness. She would demand 
I proofs, even if it became necessary to confront him with Mme. de 
; Benserade to obtain them. Moreover, she resolved that she would 
leave the house immediately it the result of the interview should 
I prove unfavorable, so she decided to go to her room, and, after 
i dressing and making the necessary arrangements for departure, re- 
pair to the little salon to play her last card in the place where she 
had played her first, and lost. 

One hour after the departure of the baroness Clara was ready, 
and sat counting the minutes on the dial— the dial she had so often 
consulted since her troubles began. 

To allay her impatience she at last began to w^alk up and down 
the room, pausing occasionally to glance out of the window over- 
looking the street. 

George had gone out in his coupe, and she would recognize the 
carriage and coachman some distance oft. 

There was no carriage in sight, but on looking out of the window 
for the seventh or eighth time Clara saw a gentleman pause in front 
of the house, glance at the number, and then ring at the door of the 
porter’s lodge. 

She had never seen this gentleman before, but she bad a presenti- 
ment that his visit was in some way connected with George. He 
did not look like a tradesman. On the contrary, he was fashionably 
dressed, but while waiting for some one to answer the bell he ex- 
amined the contents of a wallet which he had drawn from his over- 
coat pocket. Had the countess owed any money the idea that the 
man had called to request the payment of a bill would have in- 
stantly occurred to her, but she did not, so she concluded that he 
had merely called to leave a letter. 

Consequently she was not very much surprised when her maid 
entered to inform her that a gentleman wished to speak to her on 
business connected with the count, and without inquiring the 
visitor’s name she ordered the servant to usher him into the "room. 

He made his appearance a moment afterward, and in spite of his 
aftected ease of manner it was very evident that he was loath to 
broach the object of his visit. 

“ What is your business with me?" she asked, dryly. 

" Is it to the Countess de Listrac that 1 have the honor of speak- 
ing?" inquired the man. 

" Yes; what have you to say to me?" 

‘‘ 1 have called, madame, to show you three notes, and to inquire 
if you are willing to acknowledge your signature." 

" Three notes!" replied the countess. "You must be mistaken, 
sir. 1 have given no notes, for 1 owe nothing." 

" Oh, it is not a question of immediate payment. These notes 
will not become due until the 22d of April." 

" By whom were they given?" 

" By the Count de Listrac, your husband." 

Clara was prepared for this response, so it did not disconcert her. 
This was evidently another debt contracted by George. 

" My husband’s business obligations do not concern me," she re 


54 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


plied. My property was settled upon myself by tlie provisions of 
our marriage contract. You are probably ignorant of that fact.” 

“ Pardon me, madame; but 1 am perfectly well aware of it, and 
however good Monsieur de Listrac’s credit may be, 1 would not have 
loaned him a hundred thousand francs il you had not guaranteed 
the payment of the amount. Loaning money is my business, and 1 
must take my precautions.” 

Clara still failed to understand him. 

“ When did you loan this money?” she asked. 

“ Day before yesterday, niadame. You are aware that Monsieur 
de Listrac has met with some very heavy losses of late. He is rich 
enough to bear them, of course, but he was in need of ready money, 
so he applied to me.” 

It cut Clara to the heart to learn that on the very day of their 
reconciliation George had borrowed money without apprising her of 
the fact. It certainly could not have been to spare his wife the 
bitter necessity of parting with her home, for he evidently intended 
to keep the money for his personal use, as he had taken pains to con- 
ceal the transaction from her. 

Bui though the news filled her with deep indignation, the end w^as 
not yet. 

“ To one of your wealth a transaction of one hundred thousand 
francs is of no very great importance,” resumed the man; “ still, 1 
am surprised that you have forgotten the dale of it.” 

“ 1 do not understand you.” 

“ But you must recollect the circumstance, madame. Do you not 
remember that Monsieur de Listrac came to you about three o’clock 
in the afternoon to ask this favor, which you must have granted 
with very good grace, for he left my house on the Rue Goudot, and 
returned to it in less than an hour.” 

“ Explain more clearly, if you please, sir,” interrupted Clara, who 
was beginning to suspect the frightful truth. 

” He returned the three notes tome with your indorsement,” 
continued tlie money-lender, and I, of course, gave him the money 
at once.” 

‘‘ With my indorsement?” repeated the countess, falteringly. 

” Certainly; and but for your indorsement 1 should not have 
loaned him a penny; for, between you and me, your husband is 
irretrievably ruined.” 

Clara’s last hope vanished, and she realized the depth of the abyss 
into which George had fallen. He had forged his wife’s name in 
order to obtain money from an usurer, regardless of the deploraOle 
consequences which would inevitably ensue. 

” He doubtless intended to excite my compassion by fresh protes- 
tations or affection when the notes became due,” she thought, bit- 
terly. ” He did not foresee that the man would come to ascertaiii 
if the indorsement was genuine, only a day or tw^o after the loan. 
Nor does he know that 1 have only to say the word to ruin him.” 

” All this is no explanation of the object of your visit,” she said, 
quietly, though her face was death-like in its pallor. 

” The explanation is very simple, however,” replied the money- 
lender. ” 1 have not the honor of knowing you, madame, and when 
Monsieur de Listrac brought me your indorsement, 1 of course could 


XHE PRIMA DO]Sr]!^^A S HUSBAKD. 


55 


I not be certain that the handwriting was yours; so 1 concluded to 
i submit the notes to your inspection in order to ascertain if the sig- 
j natures are genuine/’ 

I “A useless precaution, it seems to me, as 3^011 have discounted 
the notes. It would have been tar better tor you to have accom- 
panied Monsieur de Listrac when he came to ask the tavor of me.” 

I “ 1 did think of it,” replied Men ager, with some embarrassment; 

: ” but I teared tu o5end him by seeming to doubt his word.” 

” Your scruple might have cost you dear. What if 1 should deny 
I the genuineness of the indorsement you have accepted?” 

' The usurer turned pale. The question had every appearance of 
being the prelude to a denial. 

I “In that case 1 should not hesitate a moment,” he replied. ” On 
' leaving your house 1 should enter a formal complaint against your 
husband; and, as all men are equal in the eyes of the law. Monsieur 
de Listrac, in spite of his title, would sleep in prison to-night. This, 

I too, would be only the beginning of an unpleasant journey to the 
penitentiary, ma Mazas, and the Court of Assizes.” 

” Spare yourself the trouble of uttering these ridiculous threats,” 
interrupted the countess. ” Monsieur de Listrac has nothing to fear 
from the law. It is only necessary for me to see if the notes you 
hold are really those 1 indorsed. Will you have the goodness to show 
them to me?” 

Menager needed no urging. 

They were in his wallet, and he promptly produced them, 
j Clara took them with a hand that did not tremble in the least, 
glanced at them, and walking toward a rosewood desk at the further 
end of the room said, quietly, 

Very well, 1 will pay you.” 

Menager found himself in a very embarrassing position. Moulieres 
had forbidden him to give up the notes, even if the indorsements 
were not genuine; and though he had not explained the use he in- 
tended to make of them, his partner suspected that he wished to 
retain them as a weapon against George de Listrac. But Menager, 
who had no reason to hate that gentleman, looked at the matter 
from an entirely difterent point of view; and, seeing an opportunity 
to reap a rich profit from the transaction, could not make up his 
mind to renounce it. 

Still, to quiet his conscience, he felt obliged to enlighten Mme. de 
Listrac. 

” 1 repeat, madame, that these notes will not become due for three 
months,” he said. “You are not compelled to take them up now.” 

Clara did not pay the slightest attention to his words. She had 
taken a large package of bank-notes from the desk, and, adding to 
it five notes which she took from another package, she handed it to 
Menager, saying: 

“ Count it, it you please.” 

He did count it, after laying his hat on a chair. 

“ Nov/, go,” said Mme de Listrac, in a tone that admitted of no 
reply. 

So, with a low bow, he withdrew, leaving Clara Monti standing 
there with the written proofs of her husband’s dishonor in her 
hands. 


56 THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND, 

Close upon the insulting visit of her rival had come the knowl- 
edge of her husband’s infamy. This was too much. Indignation had 
given place to disgust. 

After begging money from his wife, after kneeling before her, 
and extorting money from her by his protestations of love, and his 
caresses, he had stooped to forgery. 

“ Oh, the wretch! the miserable wretch!” murmured Clara. ” 1 
learned an hour ago that he had no heart, but 1 did not know until 
now that he was utterly devoid of honor. 1 sold this house to pay 
his debts, and he was confident that I would pay even more to save 
him from prison. What philter has the sarceress for whose sake he 
has sacrified me, given him? 1 will not degrade myself by com- 
peting with her! Let her keep him! Let her drag through the mire 
the name 1 will no longer bear! I should die of shame and humilia- 
tion, if 1 remained here with him another day. 1 will leave this 
house, and will never willingly look upon his face again! If I hated 
him 1 might again come to love and forgive him; but 1 despise 
him, and one can never love an object of scorn and contempt. All 
is over now. George de Listrac has ceased to exist for me. 1 am 
going away. He shall not find me here.” 

This resolve was perfectly natural, but it was not easy to carry it 
into execution. She had the means to lead an independent life, it 
is true, but a person of her rank can not leave her home and hus- 
band, no matter how unworthy he may be, without giving any warn* 
ing or making some arrangement for the future.” 

Where should she go? To the Grand Hotel, like a stranger in the 
city? Such an arrangement might answer for awhile; but she had 
uo very clear idea of her husband’s rights in the matter of inforcing 
a return to her home, and she thought it more than probable that 
she would be obliged to leave France. 

Just then, her maid entered with a letter. Clara took it and 
opened it with a vague presentiment that the contents might prove 
of importance, and perhaps solve the problem for her. 

The letter was from Albert Dartige. 

On seeing the signature, Mme. de Listrac made an impatient 
movement. Was it in this way that he kept his promise of forget- 
ting the past, and contenting himself with her friendship? 

A glance at the opening sentence showed her that Dartige did not 
deserve her displeasure, however. 

The contents of the letter were as follows: 

“ Madame, — 1 called at your house yesterday in vain. 1 was 
impelled to take a step you had forbidden by the fact that 1 had 
some news which would certainly interest you. 

” On leaving you, after an interview which 1 shall never forget, 
1 accosted the young lady you had noticed; and, in accordance with 
the wish you expressed, inquired into her situation. 

"She is an Italian, as you supposed, and has come to Paris to 
make her debut as an opera singer. It seems that slie has an excel- 
lent voice, and her instructor has assured her that she is tolerably 
sure to succeed upon the stage; but she has no friends in Paris, and 
bases all her hopes upon a letter of introduction to a famous singer, 
given her by her teacher. ” 


THE PRIMA DONKA’S HUSBAND, 


57 


Poor girl!” murmured Mme. de Listrac. “ If she but knew to 
what operatic successes lead! 1 should like to enlighten her, and, if 
1 can,, be of service to her in any way.” 

She continued her reading. She had just reached a passage where 
a great surprise awaited her: 

” 1 should not trouble you with this rather commonplace story, if 
this young girl had not told me the name of the great artiste whose 
protection she seeks. 

“ The great artiste is yourself.” 

”1!” exclaimed the countess. “ Has he lost his senses, or is this 
merely a pretext for renewing an acquaintance I desire broken oft?” 

“Yes, mgdame, 1 saw the letter addressed to Clara Monti; and 
the man who wrote it, once had the honor of numbering you among 
his pupils. 

“ His name is Cesare Quaglia, and he teaches singing in Florence.” 

“ Quaglia! good old Quaglia, who gave me my first lessons in 
solfeggio! 1 had almost forgotten him, but 1 am glad to learn that 
he is still living. He must be a hundred! He did quite right lo 
write to me, and protegee can rely upon my assistance.” 

“ This was a singular meeting, was it not?” she read on, “ and 
you little suspected that it was you this black-eyed girl was seeking. 

“ But it will surprise you still more to learn that she had not t& 
slightest idea that you were now the Countess de Listrac. Her in- 
structor himself did not know it. He had heard that you left the 
stage in order to marry, and that was all. Need 1 add that 1 did 
not feel at liberty to send your young countrywoman lo you before 
satisfying myself that you were willing to see her? 1 therefore con- 
tented myself with telling her that 1 might be able lo obtain your 
address for her. 

“ 1 offered to transmit Cesare Quaglia’s letter to you, but she 
refused to intrust it to me. 

“1 wished above all to make sure that she spoke the . truth, 
and that she was no adventuress; and in order that you might be 
; able to judge for yourself, I asked her to tell me her name and his- 
tory; whereupon she told me a rather romantic story, which 1 will 
faithfully repeat to you. 

“ She is seventeen, she told me. She was born in Florence, like 
yourself, and belongs to a highly respectable family. She never 
saw her mother, but her grandmother, on her mother’s side, was a 
Frenchwoman, so the girl speaks French as well as she does Ital- 
ian. Her father was a painter and a poet — ” 

“ That is strange!” murmured the countess. 

“ Who left quite a famous name in Florence, at least so she 
asserts, and she assures me that some of his ‘pictures appear to very 
good advantage among some by the old masters, in one of the 
churches of his native city. 

“ 1 should add that this great artist was a friend of yours, if we 
can believe his daughter Andrea, who can speak only by hearsay, 


58 THE PKIMA HUSBAND. 

however, for she was but an infant when he died from an accident, 
as nearly as 1 can understand. 

Clara understood perfectly, and her pallor betrayed profound 
emotion. 

“ His name was Vitale Vitellio,” she read. 

“He!” she murmured, “he was the father of this c^irl w^ho is 
looking for me! Yes, a daughter was born to him about two years 
before his untimely death, bhe was the fruit of his marriage with 
a French actress, whom he had met at Milan, and who died in 
childbirth. He told me the sad story. The child was placed in 
his grandmother’s charge, but I should have loved and cared for 
her as if she had been my own, if 1 had married Vitale. And she is 
in Paris, she needs my protection! Oh, it is God who sends her to 
me! I was wondering if 1 should have the courage to live — 1 will 
live lor her sake.” 

“ But where shall 1 find her? Dartige does not say, unless he 
tells me here at the close of the letter.” 

Turning to the next page, she read: 

“ That is all, madame. It is now for you to decide what you 
will do for this young girl, for whom 1 must admit that I feel a 
deep sympathy. She does not know the name you bear or where 
you live, consequently she can not present herself at your house; 
but 1 inquired her address, so that you might call upon her if you 
wished to do so. She is staying at No. 22 Rue de Beaune, and you 
will be almost certain to find her at home if you conclude to call 
upon her. 

“You see, madame, that f am confining myself strictly to the 
friendly r61e which you have assigned to me. 1 may also add that 
1 iiave kept my w^ord in abstaining from any further altercation 
with the person who so deeply affronted me. Very soon after my 
conversation with you 1 met Monsieur de Listrac at the club to 
which w^e both belong. 1 did not speak to him, and he pretended 
not to know me. It is true that he was playing cards and winning 
heavily at the time, and, perhaps, that is the reason he did not 
honor me with his attention. But however that ma}' have been, 
you may rest assured that we shall remain upon this footing of mu- 
tual indifference, unless he should challenge me, which 1 do not 
consider at all probable.” 

“He was gambling!” murmured the countess, sorrowfully, 
“ gambling only a few hours after he swore at my feet to renounce 
the follies that have brought him where he is. He was winning, and 
yet allowed me to impoverish myself for his sake. Wretch! cow- 
ard! hypocrite! And 1 have worshiped this man! and 1 am not 
even sure that 1 do not still love him! Ah! 1 wdll no longer be 
obliged to submit to his treacherous caresses, and listen to his atro- 
cious falsehoods. 1 will leave this house, never to return. To con- 
sole me for so many efforts 1 shall have a daughter to protect and a 
friend, for Dartige consents to be a true friend and nothing more. 

1 misjudged him. His letter shows him in his true character, and 
1 feel that 1 can depend upon him. He will be the friend 1 so much 


THE PEIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAND. 


59 


need, and he will assist me in insuring a happy luture to Vitale’s 
daughter. AVhy did slie not think of applying to me long ago? I 
should have had an aim in life then, and the memory of her father 
might perhaps have saved me from the foolish passion which has 
broken my heart. ” 

Just then the clock struck three. The sound reminded her that 
it was time for her to depart if she wished ta carry her plans into 
execution. The count might return at any moment, and she had 
sw’orn never to see him again. 

She placed in a small Russia leather satchel all the money and 
valuable papers that were not in her banker’s custody, and also the 
three notes she had just paid; then she put on the first cloak and 
bonnet she could lay her hands upon, without calling her maid. 

She would not even send for a carriage. The footman might 
notice the number of it, and her husband thus be able to discover 
where she had gone. 

She did not take these precautions because she had any idea of 
disappearing altogether. She could not endure the idea of conceal- 
ing herself as if she had been guilty of some crime: on the contrary, 
she intended to speedily reappear and allow public opinion to judge 
between her husband’s conduct and her own. It would first be 
necessary to consult her lawyer in regard to the sale of the house, 
however, and upon the best means of legalizing her separation from 
M. de Listrac. Consequently she must remain for a few days at 
least in seclusion, and she could find no more effectual way to si- 
lence scandal than to spend this interval in the company of* Andrea 
Vitellio. 

She could not go, however, without notifying her husband of her 
departure, and of her determination not to return. If she tailed to 
do this, the count, persevering in his role, would not fail to pro- 
claim his loss from the housetop, and perhaps even inform the po- 
lice of his wife’s disappearance in order to convey the impression 
that she had fled with a lover. 

A note would suffice. She knew that he would come straight to 
the little salon in which she usually waited tor him, and which the 
servants never entered unbidden, so taking a sheet of paper she 
placed it in a conspicuous place on a table, after writing upon it 
these words: 

'‘1 have just paid three notes which you drew upon me, and 
which a usurer presented to me for payment. 1 have also received a 
visit from the person who purchased the house 1 sold to pay your 
debts. 

“ This is enough. I am going away. Forget me, as 1 shall for- 
get you, and never try to see me again. Farewell.” 

She signed herself Clara Monti, as if to show him that the Count- 
ess de Listrac no longer existed. 

Five minutes afterward she crosse'd the threshold of the house 
that now belonged to her successful rival, and walked down the 
Rue de Monceau without once turning to look behind her. 


60 


THE PfllMA D02 !T]^A’s HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER V. 

A MONTH has pass.ed. The sacrifice is consummated. Mme. de 
Benserade had paid for the house, and is now installed in the former 
home of the Countess de Listrac, who has left her husband. 

The fact is known everywhere. All Paris is aware that the count 
has been abandoned by his wife, and that he is consoling himself 
by devoted attentions to the Baroness de Benserade. The majority 
of people do not consider him in the least to blame. 

The count has met all his obligations, though he might have 
taken advantage of the law that ignores all gambling debts. No one 
inquires where he obtained the large amount of money needed to 
satisfy his creditors. Some of the less charitable insinuate that it 
was gained at baccarat, for he continues to win at the club, and the 
Polish banker is supposed to be on the verge of ruin. No one 
thinks of the victim, the heroic Clara Monti, who has robbed herself 
to save her husband. 

People even pity him. They say that his wife has deserted him 
for a lover. Others, who are a little better informed, declare that 
she is living quietly in an obscure part of the city and devoting her- 
self to the education of an illegitimate daughter, who was born pre- 
vious to her marriage, and whom she recently found in the streets 
of Paris. 

George de Listrac conducts himself in the mosr exemplary man- 
ner. He left the house on the Rue de Monceau on the very even- 
ing of his wife’s disappearance, and has since rented a handsome 
suite of appartments on the Champs Elysees. Even the Marquise 
de Marvejols has taken his part. The old busybody denounced him 
to his wife before the rupture, but afterward she heaped the bit- 
terest invectives upon the tormer singer, who dared to create such a 
scandal, and now zealously sustains Listrac, less from sympathy 
than from a spirit of caste probably. 

As for Juliette de Benserade, she is triumphant, exultant. She 
has driven away her rival, and secure in her wealth and compla- 
cency, is more than ever determined to marry George when a di- 
vorce shall set him at liberty, or his wife shall have died of a broken 
heart. The eminent lawyers that have been consulted on the sub- 
ject seem to be of the opinion that it will not be difficult to secure 
the annulment of a marriage contracted in Austria between a 
Frenchman and an Italian. Moreover, there is a strong probability 
ot a speedy modification of the Napoleonic Code. She hopes that 
the Chamber of Deputies will soon act on this matter; and it she 
prayed at all she would not neglect to invoke a nightly blessing 
upon the honorable M. Naquet. 

M. de Moulieres continues to act as her Confidential adviser. She 
does not pay much attention to his advice, but invariably consults 
him. 

They are near neighbors now, for he resides in elegantly fur- 
nished apartments on the Rue de Teheran, where he leads the life 


THE.PimiA DONNA'S HUSBAND. 


61 


a wealthy gentleman ot leisure. He breaktasts in his rooms, but 
ines out, generally at the club. 

V This independent mode ot life suits his tastes, and is compara- 
avely inexpensive, though economy appears to be no object with 
im, as he seems to have plenty of money at his disposal and spends 
freely. He always has a hundred louis at the service of his friends, 
,nd has a most delightful way ot forgetting these trifling loans. As 
natural consequence, his praises are in everybody's mouth, at the 
ub and elsewhere. 

No one would be so ungracious as to put any troublesome ques- 
ions to such an obliging gentleman. All inquiries in regard to his 
tecedents are strictly tabooed. It is enough that he is always to 
seen at the club, at all the first performances at the leading 
eaters, and in the most aristocratic drawing-rooms. Paris is a city 
here a person’s origin is a matter of trivial importance. One 
oubles one’s self only about the present, and Raoul de Moulieres’ 
esent is, or seems to be, irreproachable. 

Dropping in at the house of Muie. de Benserade one March morn- 
ing, on his way to the club, he found that lady half reclining In an 
brm-chair, with a decidedly petulant expression upon her prefty 
face. 

“ What is the matter, my dear Juliette?” he asked, smiling.. 
‘‘Yonr usually radiant countenance wears a cloud this morning. 
One would almost think that you had been crying.” 

“Oh, not yet, but I shall end with that, tor 1 am bored to death, 
land feel terribly out of spirits.” 

“ This is certainly something new for you. You must have the 
vapors, as they used to say in Louis Fifteenth’s time, for you cer- 
tainly have every reason to be perfectly happy. Your conquest of 
Listrac is complete enough to satisfy the most exacting, and you 
have driven his wife from her home. Listrac and the house are 
both yours.” 

“ Yes; and at first 1 enjoyed my twofold triumph hugely. I took 
the most intense delight in metamorphosing the cage in which that 
blackbird used to sins: her love duets with George. I even threw 
away all tlie plants in the conservatory, in order that there should 
be no trace of her reign; but now 1 have done all this, 1 am begin- 
ning to tire of this great barrack, 1 am lost in the house. My old 
home on the Rue de Suresnes was so delightfully cozy that 1 can not 
think of it without regret.” 

“ 1 prophesied all this, you recollect; but you would not listea 
to me, and needs must bring about a rupture between the count and 
his wife by defying the latter in her own house.” 

‘‘Oh, 1 don’t repent of that; but 1 am sorry that 1 have tied 
up all my ready money in a great house like this; and when 1 
think of the bill my upholsterer will bring in, 1 can not help 
shuddering.” 

■ “ It is very unfortunate for you, and for George, too, that you 
have fallen into the very agreeable habit of living as if you had 
an income of one hundred thousand francs.” 
f “ George and 1 together have as much as that.” 

“ You think so, do you?” said Mouiieres, with an ironical smile. 

“ 1 am sure of it. 1, for my part, have a million francs.” 


62 


THE PEIJIA DOHHA’S HUSBAND. 


Six liiindrecl thousand of which are invested in a house which 
not only brings you in nothing, as you live in it, but which it costs 
you a great deal to keep up.*’ 

“ Tha: is true. Ah, well! 1 can sell it.” 

“ Yes; at a loss.” 

” The tact is, 1 would have displayed much more good sense, had 
1 remained where 1 was. But regrets will avail nothing, now. Be- 
sides, it does not matter much, as George has plenty of money, for 
1 am in love with George, and 1 shall marry him whatever you may 
say to the contrary.” 

” Then you will have to begin by killing his wife, for if you are 
counting upon the vole of the Senate, you will have to wait a long 
time. By the way, would you like to know George’s real financial 
condition?” 

‘‘ You are going to try to convince me that he is a ruined man, 
but it will only be a waste of time, tor 1 know that he has plenty of 
ready money.” 

” He won twenty-five thousand francs at baccarat yesterday. To- 
day he will perhaps lose forty thousand. The Pole’s luck is im- 
proving again, and as he is much richer than Listrac, he will finally 
ruin him. Listrac had a nandsome fortune when I first introduced 
him to you, but the late crash crippled him seriously, and it was his 
wife who set him on his feet again last January, or rather it was 
3^ou, tor it was done with your rrioney. The entire amount you paid 
to her notary was spent in that way. Listrac has nothing, I tell you. 
He is living upon what he wins at the card-table. When that re- 
source fails him, he will look to you for aid, his wife liaviug de- 
serted him. It will be for you to decide whether you will render 
him the desired assistance or not.” 

” Never!” exclaimed the baroness, vehemently. ” 1 love George 
better than I ever loved any one in my whole life; but 1 am not one 
of that large class of love-sick simpletons to which Clara Monti be- 
longed.” 

” 1 hope not, indeed.” 

“But 1 can not break my engagement with George on the plea 
that he has not money enough. What would you advise me to do?” 

“ To await the progress of events, and abandon your foolish hopes. 
Listrac will not succeed in obtaining a complete divorce. A partial 
divorce will be all that he can secure; and that will preclude any 
possibility of a second marriage, while his wife lives. If 1 should 
prove to be mistaken in this, 1 will furnish you with a good excuse 
for breaking your engagement with him whenever you wish.” 

“ You are certainly very kind,” said the baroness, half amused, 
half annoyed. “ Do you know that you have a very singular way 
of showing your friendship?” 

“ Possibly,” replied Moulieres, tranquilly; “ but it is certainly a 
very sensible way', after all. We are sufficiently well acquainted, 
you and 1, for me not to feign sentiments that 1 do not feel. 1 don’t 
pride myself on m.y disinterestedness, and 1 view life as it really is. 
I am Listrac’s comrade, but not his friend, in the sentimental sense 
of the word. Friendship is based only upon a unity of interests. It 
matters very little to me whether this gentleman turns out badly or 


THE PRIMA DOXXA’s HUSBAND. 63 

I not ; but it does matter a great deal to me, if you should be obliged 
to bear the penalty of his folly.” 

” Then you and 1 must have common interests, as you espouse 
my cause sojsvarmly,” remarked Juliette, with a searching glance. 

“ Unquestionably. 1 have often told you why.” 

“ You have always told me that you and 1 would marry some day^ 

I but 1 do not agree with you.” 

I “ You will change your opinion by and by. However, that is 
neither here nor there, l.only ask now that you will be guided by 
my counsels. When you have no further need of them, that is to 
say, when Listrac has disappeared from the scene, you can do as 
you please. Moreover, 1 am working for you n jw, though you do 
not suspecl; it. Do you know what I propose to do?” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea.” 

“ Well, 1 am going to obtain some information in regard to Ma- 
dame de Listrac’s present mode of life. 1 want to find out if she 
really has a lover, as some people pretend.” 

“ 1 hope she has, for in that case, George would have no difficulty 
in getting a divorce from her.” 

“ Perhaps not; but she has the means of defending herself if he 
attempts to attack her. He is very well aware of the"^ fact, and will 
not run any risk.” 

” Why not?” asked the baroness, eagerly. 

” That is merely m}^ opinion,’' replied Moulieres, evasively, for 
he did not care to reveal his business relations with Menager. 

He took leave of the baroness shortly afterward, and started off 
on the errand to which he had alluded. For some time he had been 
anxious to know exactly what had become of Mme. de Listrac, for 
the information he had obtained on the subject had been extremely 
vague, and it had occurred to him that the Marquise de Marjevols 
might be much better informed than Listrac himself, who had made 
no effort to find his wife. 

He found the marquise shivering in front of the fire, and grum- 
bling because her wood would not burn. 

What! is this you?” she cried, as soon as he was ushered into 
the room. “ This is a treat, indeed. It is very evident that you 
affect my handsome Cousin Listrac’s society, for you have forgotten 
all the manners you ever knew. He has not condescended to come 
here since his wife left him, and you have thought it proper to fol- 
low his example. You were waiting for me to send for you, per- 
haps.” 

‘‘ 1 have done wrong, 1 know, madame,” replied Moulieres, def- 
erentially. ” My only excuse is that 1 dared not present myself 
here after what had occurred. I knew that you would question 
me in regard to the causes of a rupture that 1 deeply deplore, and 1 
did not know what to say to you.” 

“ I know the causes far belter than you do. The first is the ar- 
rant folly of which George was guilty in marrying a singer. When 
. one is a Listrac, one should not lower one’s self to gratify a mere 
caprice. 

” The second is the atrocious conduct of an idiot, who. after five 
years of happy married life, falls heels over head in love with an 
adventuress, and ruins himself in stock-gambling. 


64 


THE PlilMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


“ 1 do not pity him in the least. He has got only what he de- 1 
serves, and if he is counting upon my property to set him on his | 
feet again, he is reckoning without his host. In the first place, 1 1 
shall outlive him; tor if he goes on at his present rat? he will blow 
his brains out, one of these tine days. Besides, 1 am going to invest 
all my property in an annuity. 

“ 1 do not think that the idea of inheriting your property has ever 
occurred to Listrac, my dear madame. Besides, he has plenty left 
to live upon.” 

“ Bah! he has nothing left. He depends upon what he wins at 
the card-table for his support. 1 tell you that he is in a fair way 
to dishonor his name.” 

“ No one can accuse him ot not paying his debts. He has paid 
every cent he owes, and I know very few who can say as much.” 

“ How absurd itds for you to try to fill my ears with such non- 
sense as this! As it 1 did not know that his wife sold her house to 
help him out of his difficulties. She really acted nobly, and 1 must 
admit that she has shown much more principle than George.” 

You judge her very leniently; but you must admit that she did 
ver}^ wrong to sever her conjugal relations so hastily, and if what I 
hear is true — ” 

“You refer to the report that she has a lover, ] presume. That 
story is false, 1 can assure you of that.” 

“ Do you know what has become of her?” 

“Ido. She has shown me much more respect than her scapegrace 
of a husband has. In short, she called to see me a few days ago, 
and told me all.” 

“ All!” exclaimed Moulieres, thinking of the forged notes. 

“ Yes, all — the audacious visit of that hussy of a baroness, George’s 
falsehoods and the deception he practiced to induce her to pay his 
debts. Is there anything still more outrageous? It would not sur- 
jDrise me.” 

“No, madame; and a part of what you have just told me is cer- 
tainly news to me.” 

“ indeed? Well, to tell the truth, 1 think Clara Monti did per- 
fectly right in leaving her husband, though 1 do not approve of her 
course since the separation. 1 advised her to return to her native 
land, where she could live very comfortably upon the money she 
has left; but she is unwilling to leave Paris, and 1 am inclined to 
think that she still loves her husband. Women like her always love 
scapegraces.” 

“ But where is she living?” 

“Not far from here, in furnished rooms on the Quai Voltaire. 
She has with her a young Italian girl, w^ho arrived in Paris just in 
time to serve as a companion for her.” 

“ That is singular. How old is this Mignon, who has so sudden- 
ly dropped down upon us from the land of the citron and orange.” 

“ Sixteen, she says, though she looks at least eighteen; but she is 
very beautiful.” 

“ There are persons who will be uncharitable enough to believe 
that this girl is Madame de Listrac’s daughtei, born prior to her 
marriage.” 

“ They will be fools, then, for the girl has a grandmother, resid- 


Il • - ' 

ij THE PKIMA donna's HUSBAND. 65 

1 1 !ng in Florence, and her father was quite a celebrated man, an artist 
I;! or poet — I don’t exactly recollect which— named Vitellio.” 
j;| “ VitellioJ” exclaimed Moulieres. “ Yitale Yitellio, who was 

: assassinated one night on the Qiiai de I’Arno, just as he was leaving 
the theater?” 

! “You seem to be much better informed than 1 am. How did you 
I learn these particulars? Were you in Florence at the time?” 

“Yes; that is to say, no. 1 was traveling in Italy, and the mur- 
j der caused a good deal of talk.” 

j “1 never heard anything about it. But why are you so agitated? 
It was not you who killed him, 1 hope,” sneered the marquise. 

Moulieres, who w^as usually so composed, had certainly changed 
I countenance; but he quickly recovered himselt, and said coldly: 

”1 never laid eyes on the man. But you are doubtless ignorant 
that he was Clara Monti’s first lover. She had just made a very suc- 
j cessful dehut at that time, and was about to marry Yitellio when 
he was assassinated in the street, probably by a rival.” 

“ Whew!” murmured Mme. de Marvejols, “ this is a tragedy my 
: cousin by marriage did not think proper to relate to me.” 

“She did not keep it from her husband, however — she is very 
clever — but Listrac attached no importance to it.” 

“ I do. Ay hen 1 see his wife again, 1 shall have a few words to 
say to her. 1 shall insist upon an explanation of her relations to 
her protegee, and shall certainly compel her to confide her plans to 
i me. She let drop a few words the other day that led me to think 
that she meditated a return to the stage. 1 can not prevent her from 
doing that in some other country, but if she thinks of degrading 
herself in that way right here in Paris, she will have me to contend 
with.” 

“You need have no fears of that. A married woman can make 
no valid engagement without her husband’s consent.” 

“ Listrac will cheerfully give her that when his mone}^ is exhaust- 
ed, provided she will share her earnings with him, and 1 believe she 
is just fool enough to corisent to such an arrangement. But 1 swear 
to you that, in spile of my seventy^ years, 1 will take a box expressly’’ 
to hiss her.” 

“ There will be plenty of applause to drown your hisses, my dear 
madame,” replied ^loulieres. “ She would be a great success. In 
the first place, her'voice is unimpaired. Besides, the name she 
bears, will prove a powerful attraction. Everybody will want to 
see the Countess de Listrac personate ‘ Desdemona ’ or ‘ Ophelia.’ I 
am not at all surprised that she has made up her mind to return to 
the stage, if only to get even with her husband. What will he think 
of this piece of revenge? i intend to ask him.” 

“ Do so, by all means,” retorted the marquise, dryly, “ and when 
you speak to him on the subject, piay do not conceal my opinion. 
Tell him, from me, that if he permits such a thing, he will be irre- 
trievably disgraced. He is badly enough compromised already, but 
he is still tolerated, while he will be cut by everybody if they have 
reason to believe that he lives by his wife’s quavers, after reducing 
her to poverty. ” 

“ His position would certainly be very unenviable. If he fol- 
lows my advice, he will oppose such a step on the part of the count- 
3 


66 THE PRIMA HOHHA’S HUSBAHD. 

ess, who will probably think ttvice before creating such a scanflaL 
She is thirty* five years old, and her talent v/ill not save her from 
criticisms lo which every woman is keenly sensitive. Besides,, 
what would she do with this young compatriot she has taken under 
her protection?*' 

“ She would probably encourage her to enter upon the same 
career. She sings like a nightingale, 1 understand," 

“ In any case, it would bew'ell to warn Listrac of this possibility. 
Why do you not speak to him yourself? 1 am sure he will call if I 
hint that you would like to see him." 

" No. 1 don’t want him to set foot in my house while he is com* 
promising himself by such maiked attentions to that Benserade 
woman. If he had applied to me when his wife left him, I would 
have done my best to bring about a reconciliation between them. 
He did not, but 1 was magnanimous enough to undertake his de- 
fense, for he is my cousin, after all; but 1 know very well which of 
them is to blame. Nothing that he can say, will change my opinion^ 
so 1 do not care to listen to his explanation. It is too late. Let the 
matter rest where it is. " 

" But if he should cease his attentions to the baroness, what then ?’^ 

" Then we will see; but 1 don't think there is much chance of 
that." 

" She may marry some one else." 

If Listrac would have nothing more to do with her, 1 am almost 
sure that his wife would be fool enough to return to him. In that 
case, they might go to the country to live, and 1 would give them 
m)^ blessing before their departure." 

" 1 do not doubt that this promise will induce Listrac to make a 
complete change in his mode of life," replied Moulieres, with an 
ironical smile. 

"1 do; but you can add that my money is not yet invested in 
an annuity, nor my will made," retorted the marquise. 

" 1 will not fail to do so; bur 1 must now ask your permission 
to take leave of you. 1 ought to see George at once, and this is 
just the hour to catch him at the club," 

" Seated at the card-table. Tell him 1 hope he will lose more 
than he can pay. That must happen someday or other, and 1 wish 
it would happen to-day. Ferocious animals can be tamed only by 
depriving them of nourishment. Starvation makes tliera more 
amenable to reason, and 1 shall perhaps succeed in getting him back 
in the right path when he is reduced to want." 

" The baroness, too, is not likely to regard him with much favor 
if he becomes poor." 

" You know the lady very well, it seems to me." 

" 1 am so well acquainted with Listrac that I could hardly help 
knowing her, but 1 assure you that 1 do not sustain her. 1 espouse 
the good cause, that of the wife.’" 

" 1 am glad to hear it," said the marquise, though the words were 
uttered vith a rather incredulous air. " Go and talk to my cousin, 
if it is not too late. 1 fear that he is already compromised irretriev- 
ably, however." 

Moulieres, who prided himself on his good manners, gallantly 


THE PKIHA DOHHA^S HUSBAKD. 67 

i 

I kissed the hand the dowager extended, and departed, well satisfied 
f with his visit. 

j He had learned many things of which he had been entirely igno- 
rant, and which he intended to turn to a good account. 

, The most important and least expected of these pieces of infor- 
; mation was certainly the news of the existence of a child of Vitale 
Vitellio, and the protection accorded this child by Mme. de Listrac. 

I Notwithstanding what he had said to Mme. de Maivejols, he had 
I known the father in Florence, and had good reason to remember his 
' tragic death— a reason which he would not have confided to his best 
friend. But he was troubling himself much less about the past than 
the present, however, being engrossed in discovering what advan- 
tage, if any, he could uerive from Clara Monti’s actual situation. 

He reached the club a little before the hour at which the card-play- 
ing usually began, so being in no haste to enter the baccarat-room, 
he stepped into the reading-room, and to his great astonishment 
found a very animated conversation going on there, to the great dis- 
pleasure of the parties engaged in reading. Two or three papers 
were passing from hand to hand, and excited comments were being 
freely exchanged. 

Moulieres at first thought that some great political crisis must be 
impending, but a name that he overheard, attracted his attention, 
and he approached the talkers. 

“It is a mere canard,'' said one; “journalists nowadays are 
always indulging in such tricks to create a sensation."’ 

“No, that is hardly probable,” replied another. “The names 
are given in full, and when persons so well known are involved, no 
one would venture to circulate such a report unless there was some 
foundation for it.” 

“ Hello! here comes Moulieres, just in time to decide the ques- 
tion. He must know,” exclaimed another. 

“ What is it, pray?” inquired George’s friend. 

“ Read this, my dear fellow,” replied the first speaker, handing 
iiim a paper, 

Moulieres took the sheet and read the following paragraph : 

“We are pleased to be among the first to announce what prom- 
ises to be the great dramatic event of the present year. For three 
weeks, the company of the Theatre- Lyrique have been rehearsing 
Gounod’s ‘ Romeo and Juliet;’ but the manager alone knew the name 
of the illustrious artiste who was to assume the role of ‘Juliet.’ 
We are now authorized to lift the veil of mystery in which a noble 
and charming woman has enveloped herself — a woman who, after 
long shining with incomparable brilliancy on the operatic stage, has 
decided to return to it lor reasons which require no explanation. 

“ The great and peerless Clara Monti, whoes triumphs all the 
other capitals of Europe have witnessed, is about to sing in Paris 
for the first time. This will be the crowning of her artistic career, 
and the climax of her fame, for a rest of several years has only ma- 
tured her wonderful talent. Those who have heard her in foreign 
lands will crowd to hear her again, and those who have known her 
socially, in the exalted sphere she has so nobly adorned, will gladly 
contribute to the success that awaits her, for they will feel it a duty 


68 


THE PRIJIA donna’s HUSBAND. 

to manifest the sympathy her undeserved misfortunes have awak- 
ened in their hearts.” 

“ What do you say to that?” asked one of the club men, when 
the perusal was ended. 

“ What do you expect me to say?” retorted Moulieres. ”■ A can- 
tatrice becomes tired of tlie stage, and leaves it; she begins to pine 
for it again, and so returns to it. 1 see nothing, very astonishing 
about that.” 

Then you think this rumor is not a canard?^' 

” 1 know nothing at all about it.” 

“Nonsense! you are sufficiently intimate with Listrac to know 
what to think about it. It is true that he does not live with his 
wife; but 1 presume he is not ignorant of her movements.” 

‘‘ Possibly not, but that is no reason why he should confide them 
to me. 1 certainly have not the slightest desire to question him on 
the subject. His domestic affairs do not interest me.” 

” Others tvill be less considerate, 1 fancy; and he will be obliged 
to answer them. He will find himself in a very delicate position, 
and will feel the necessity of explaining. While it was merely a 
case of incompatibility of temper, or a misunderstanding between 
husband and wife, the affair was nobody’s business, and it mattered 
very little who was to blame. But Listrac now appears as the hus- 
band of an actress who will make enormous sunis of money. He 
will certainly be accused of speculating on his wife — and he will be 
in honor bound to vindicate himself.” 

“ And why? They have separated. She has not consulted him, 
and 1 don’t see how he can prevent her from singing.” 

“ Hs can refuse her permission to sign any contract.” 

“ That is a legal question 1 know nothing at all about.” 

“ It is one that was long since settled, however.” 

It 1 were in his place, 1 should feel afraid of being asked to 
conjugate the verb ‘to sing,’ ” added a sharp-tongued gentleman. 
“ Thou singest, she sings, 1 cause to sing — ” 

“ Why don’t you say as much to Listrac?” interrupted Moulieres. 

“ Why should Ir 1 am not an intimate friend of his,” retorted 
the gentleman. “It is surely no duty of mine to enlighten him in 
regard to the annoyances which his new position as the husband of 
a star may bring down upon him. If you feel so inclined, you can 
have no better opportunity than the present, for he is now at the 
card-table in the baccarat-room. They began playing before four 
o’clock this afternoon. It is the decisive battle, and large as Clara 
Monti’s salary at the TheStre-Lyrique may be, Listrac may lose 
here this evening more than she can earn in a year.” 

This conversation dismayed Moulieres, not that he was troubled 
by the insinuations against his friend, for he knew that gentleman’s 
worth, and did not feel inclined to shiver any lances in nis defense; 
but he saw that the count would now be forced by public opinion 
into making an immediate decision. 

Greatly annoyed and perplexed, he resolved to put an end to this 
conversation with the least possible delay. 

“You are, of course, at liberty to constitute yourself a jury for 
the trial of Listrac, gentlemen,” said he, “ but you must allow me 


I THE PlllMA DONKA’s HUSBAND. 69 

I 

j to excuse myself. 1 never meddle with other people’s affairs; and 
I I must say that 1 think my example worthy of imitation.” 

! With this retort, he turned upon his heel, and directed his steps 
I toward the room in which his friend was playing. 

On entering it, Moulieres was surprised to see that the Pole was 
I no lunger keeping the bank, and that his place was now occupied 
by the count, who sat enthroned in the center of the table, which 
I was surrounded, as usual, by a triple row of players and lookers-on. 
i This change seemed to indicate that the foreigner, not having 
I money enough left to keep the bank, had accepted a more modest 
I idle, ana was now striving to retrieve his losses by timid attacks 
I upon his successful antagonist. 

But another glance satisfied Moulieres that matters were not 
I going on exactly as he had supposed. 

I Listrac’s countenance was not the same he had worn on his suc- 
cessful days. Though outwardly calm, his lips were compressed, 
and in dealing the cards his movements were nervous and hurried. 

I The Pole, utterl 3 ^ unmoved, was smoking a huge cigar which had 
' not gone out, as it usually did when he was losing heavily. 

Besides, there was a large pile of chips in front of him; while be- 
fore Listrac, on tbe contrary, there were only some slips of paper 
bearing figures written by his own hand, and his signature — a bad 
sign at a club where such a substitute for money is rarely allowed. 

Moulieres could hardly believe his eyes. lastrac had been win- 
ning, not only steadily, but heavily, all the past month, and it 
seemed impossible that he had nothing left. Nevertheless, such 
reverses not unfreguently happen when the stakes are heavy, and 
Mine, de Benserade’s adviser, being anxious to learn the truth, turned 
and questioned one of his neighbors — a man who had stopped play- 
ing himself after losing a goodly portion of his property at the card- 
table — but who enjoyed seeing others play, as a sailor who has 
reached the harbor in safety, enjoys watching the vessels that are 
contending with adverse winds in their efforts to enter port. 

“ Your friend is having an extraordinary run of bad luck, my 
dear fellow,” he replied. ” He began the game by committing an 
act of unpardonable folly. The Pole declared that he would act as 
banker no longer, and as he is a shrewd rascal, I suspect that this 
announcement was made in the hope of inducing Listrac to take his 
place, and thus effect a change in the remarkable run of good luck 
your friend had been enjoying. He was not mistaken, for as a better 
against the bank the Pole is invariably successful. The game has 
been in progress barely an hour, and he has already won at least 
three hundred thousand francs from Listrac. 

” And look, the Pole has just won two thousand louis more. If 
the count does not slop, he will be a ruined man. Y'ou had better 
pull him by the sleeve, and give him a word of warning.” 

” It is not necessary,” replied Moulieres, ” he has thrown down 
his cards.” • 

Listrac had, in tact, thrown aside the rest of the cards. 

” 1 have had enough of it,” he remarked, as he handed the Pole 
an l.O U. ” Will you take the bank, sir?” 

” Willingly,” was the cold response, “ but 1 shall accept as stakes 
only gold, bank-notes, or chips.” 


70 


THE PRIMA DONJ^'A'S HUSBAi^:D. 


The count turned pale with anger, but instead of resenting the 
insult, which could have been intended only for him, replied: 

“ Very well, then, we will stop playing for to-day. To-morrow 
you will be paid, and 1 shall then ask you to give me my revenge.*’ 

“ Whenever you please, count.” 

This dry and rather ironical response terminated the conversation 
between the victor and the vanquished, and Listrac lett the table. 

Moulieres lost no time in joining him. His mind was now 
made up. 

‘‘ Ah! here you are,” remarked Listiac. ” 1 am glad of it, for 1 
was just leaving, and 1 am anxious to have a word with you.” 

“ i, too, have something to say to you, my dear fellow; but don’t 
let us remain here. There are too many watching us. Let us step 
into the next room. We shall be alone there.” 

The}'’ did, and found it unoccupied. 

” 1 have just met with a severe defeat, old fellow,” began George, 
“ but 1 am sure to retrieve my losses, and 1 shall have the Pole’s 
last louisyet. But 1 have gone too tar, 1 need forty thousand francs 
with which to pay my debts, and begin again to-morrow. Menager 
will loan me the money, of course. Do you think I would be likely 
to find him at heme now?” 

” 1 think not: and even if you did, you would have only your 
labor for your pains,” replied Moulieres. 

” And why? The last notes 1 gave him have been paid.” 

” By your wife; but it you should draw upon her now, I doubt 
it she would honor your signature.” 

‘‘ Mine is as good as hers.” 

‘‘ Isot in the opinion of Menager, for you recollect that he re- 
quired her indorsement the first time, and now he would not be 
satisfied with that, perhaps, for you know even better than 1 do, 
that Madame de Listrac devoted the money derived from the sale of 
her bouse to paying your indebtedness to your broker. ” 

‘‘ And consequently! have no intention of applying to her. After 
what she has done, all is over betw^een us. 1 hear, too, that she has 
a lover.” 

“ I think that is a mistake; but that is not the question. You 
need money, and must have it imiiiediatel}^ 1 can not loan it to 
you, for all my money is tied up just now, and I can not see where 
you are going to procure the necessary amount.” 

” If w^orst comes to worst I shall have to apply to Juliette,” said 
Listrac, with a furtive glance at his friend. 

‘‘ That would do no good,” replied Moulieres, coldly. ” I saw 
her only this morning, and she tola me that she was greatly embar- 
rassed tinancially. You see she had to lake six hundred thousand 
francs of her capital to pay for the house she purchased.” 

” In spite of me. I did everything in my power to prevent her 
from doing it.” 

” And you were perfectly right; but the baroness has a very strong 
will of her own, as we both know. She has had to pay dearly for 
hey obstinacy, and she still owes for the furniture she bought to re- 
place that of Madame de Listrac. By the way, she told me to ask 
you to take a box at some theater this evening, as' she felt like going 
to the play.” 


THE PRIMA DOHKA’S HUSBAND. 


71 


‘ 1 certainly am not in the humor for it. If 1 can’t raise tliis 
oney in forty-eight hours, 1 shall be expelled from the club, and 
ter that — ” 

“ 1 know a way to get you out of your dilemma, but 1 scarcely 
,re to suggest it to you.” 

Speak 1” cried Listrac. ” There are times when one would be 

illing to apply to the devil himself to obtain money, and this is 
e of them.” 

‘ Then 1 will run the risk,” replied Moulieres. “ Are you aware 
tat Madame de Listrac contemplates a return to the stage?” 

‘‘ Impossible! She would not dare!” 

“ Aou are very much mistaken. She does dare. She is soon to 
pear at the Theatre- Lyrique.” 

” Who told 3'ou so?” 

“ I saw it in the papers. ” 

” 1 read them this morning, but saw nothing of this report.” 
“You omitted the dramatic news of the day, probably. Just 
ow, in the reading-room, 1 was shown a paragraph announcing the. 
ly dehut of the countess.” 

Ah! this is really too much! My wife has no right to enter 
^nto any contract without my consent, and 1 shall take means to pre- 
fCnt he"r from thus dishonoring my name.” 

“ 1 have strong doubts of your success if you do. You may have 
the law on your side; but managers do not hesitate to transgress the 
law when it is to their interest to do so, and the impresario who 
will introduce the famous Clara Monti to the Parisian public will 
certainly make an immense amount of money. You can bring suit 
against him, of course, but 1 am by no means sure that you will 
■win it.” 

“ 1 don’t see how I can lose it.” 

“Madame de Listrac — excuse my frankness— can truthfully 
allege that you have impoverished her, or at least that she has sacri- 
ficed three quarters of her fortune to pay the debts you contracted 
in your unfortunate stock speculations, and she will therefore insist 
that you have no right to prevent her from earning a living by her 
talent. She will have public opinion on her side, and that goes a 
good way with the judges. In fact, 1 should not be surprised it 
the case did not go into the courts at all, but be decided by a referee, 
and in Madame de Listrac’s favor. There are numerous precedents 
for this, for the presiding judges of courts are always favorably dis- 
posed toward a woman, especially when this woman is a "great 
artiste.” 

The count’s head drooped under this torrent of arguments whose 
weight he could not deny, though he was unwilling' to admit him- 
self worsted. 

“ 1 say nothing of the frightful scandal which would be the 
inevitable consequence of this public altercation,” continued Mou- 
lieres. “ The press and the clubs would certainly gloat over this 
choice morsel. There is already not a little feeling against you, and 
this will be increased when certain facts which have not yet been 
made public are revealed. JMme. de Listrac has kindly consented 
to keep the cause of the separation a secret, but if she is obliged to 
defend herself she will no longer maintain silence.” 


THE PEOIA donna’s HUSBAND. 


72 

The count shuddered. He understood the allusion perfectly. 

“ Then there is nothing left for me but to blow my brains out,’ 
he said sullenly. “ If that is the means you hesitate to suggest to 
me—’' 

“ You forget that 1 am your friend. Your situation is deplora-1 
ble, hut it is not desperate. Will you listen to a few words of ad- 
vice?” I 

” That is what 1 have been waiting for a quarter of an hour.” 

” Well, there are two ways in which you can get yourself out of 
this scrape. You need money. How niucU do you need?” 

” 1 need one hundred thousand francs to pay my debts and secure 
my revenge.” 

“Why don’t you ask your wife for the money?” 

“ You must be mad.” 

“ Hot at all. Madame de Listrac is anxious to resume the artistic 
career by which she gained all she possesses, or rather all she did 
possess— and 1 am satisfied that she would pay handsomely for your 
permission to make any contracts she chooses, now or hereafter, 
either. in Paris or elsewhere.” 

“ Then j^ou would advise me to sell her my consent?” 

“ Most assuredl 3 \” 

“ And only a moment ago you pretended that she could do perfectly 
well without it. You even added that she had several very formi- 
dable weapons against me.” 

“ 1 do think so; butslie perhaps feels a very natural repugnance to 
making use of them. It is even possible that she would prefer to 
make a pecuniary sacrihce rather than do it. In any case, it is a step 
worth trying, and it you decide upon it, 1 assure you that no one 
shall know it, not even Madame de Benserade, for 1 will keep your 
secret for you.” 

“ But my wife will not, and even supposing that she would con- 
sent, a pretty figure 1 should cut in the world as the husband of a 
singer whom any blackguard can hiss, and whose conduct i have no 
right to criticise. 1 am not inclined to fill such a role.” 

“ You might fill a worse one,” said Moulieres, with a meaning 
that the count comprehended perfectly. “ Besides, 1 suggested this 
onl}^ as a last resort. There is a much better means, I think.” 

“ And what is that?” 

“ To obtain by persuasion what we just spoke of obtaining by 
threats.” 

“ 1 do not understand 5 mu.” 

“ Are you determined to remain upon your present tooting with 
Madame de Benserade, or would you consent to give her up? She 
-cannot marry you, as you are already married, and there is very lit- 
tle chance of your obtaining anyihing more than a partial divorce. 
That being the case, why do you not seek a reconciliation with your 
wife?” 

“ You do not know her.” 

“ 1 know her better than you think. The countess has been 
deeply wounded by your conduct, and it is out of spite that she has 
decided to return to the stage; but she loves you still.” 

“ Hartige is alwa 3 ^s with her, i am told.” 


THE PEIMA DONHA'S HUSBAKD. 


73 - 


People exaggerate outrageously, and you know that she never 
ired tor him.” 

“ She may have learned to love him since she left me.” 

‘ Your relative, the Marquise de Marvejols, is ready to convince 
rou to the contrary.” 

” You have seen her?” 

” This very day. 1 wished to learn what had become of Madame 
e Listrac, and 1 now know all that 1 could reasonably desire to 
now on the subject. The countess called on your cousin, who has 
ot only returned the visit, but warmly espoused her cause. She is, 
l|jn fact, highly incensed with you, and yet she is indignant at the idea 
if the Countess de Listrac appearing on the stage, If that should 
ally happen, she would turn against her, and she depends upon 
jfou to prevent it.” 

But how?” 

u " She did not say, but allows you to decide: and she bade me say 
lift you that she would forgive you only upon that condition. She 
^en added that it you refused to do what she desired, she would 
link her entire fortune in an annuity, so you would inherit nothioff 
^t her death. ” 

” Very well; but you are of the opinion that my wife would not 
weld to intimidation. How the deuce am 1 to make my peace with 
per? 1 do not even know where she is.” 

” She is living in furnished rooms on the Quai Voltaiie.” 

I ” And you think she would allow me to call on her ?” 
i ” f^o; but if I were in your place, 1 should have no difficulty in 
pbtaining an interview with her.” 

, ‘‘ How would you manage it?” 

' ‘‘In the simplest possible fashion. The countess rehearses every 
flay at the Theatre-Lyrique. I should ask the door-keeper the hour 
fet which these rehearsals take place, and wait for Madame de Lis- 
at the door.” 

‘‘ And have an explanation in the street? That would be both, 
ridiculous and absurd.” 

” On the contrary, it would be an excellent opportunity to obtain 
■an interview with the countess, who would certainly refuse to see you f 
if you should present yourself at her house. She may refuse to listen 
to you at first, but you know how to appease a woman’s )vrath much 
better than 1 do — especially when this woman loves you.” 

‘‘ And you imagine that a few honeyed words will suffice to make 
her forget the past, to renounce the stage, and return to live with 
me. You are strangely deceived. Clara lias an iron will, and when 
she has once made a resolve, nothing can change it. She bore with 
me patiently a long time, but now all is over. She wrote me that 
she would never see me again: she will keep her word; and if she 
has taken it into her head to return to the stage, nothing in the 
world <5an deter her.” 

” 1 will make a bet on it, it you like.” 

“Abet.” 

“Yes. 1 will wager you a piece of bric-^-brac, or of jewelry, to 
be given to Madame de Benserade by the loser, that if you do your 
best, the countess will consent to do what you ask.” 


74 


THE PEIHA DONKA'S HUSBAND. 

She will at least make some conditions,” murmured Listrac 
only hall convinced. 

“ You may have to wait,” interrupted Moulieies, ” and 1 advis< 
you to submit. Make some concessions, too, my dear fellow. 1| 
is well worth your while, and even if you should be obliged to ro 
sume the conjugal yoke, 1 shall not pity you much.” 

” You make very light of it; but to submit to the demands of ac 
incensed woman, to beg for the assistance she will make me pay 
Nearly tor, if she consents to grant it at all, is certainly not verj 
pleasant.” 

” It is'certainly more agreeable than expulsion from the club, and 
— poverty.” ' 

“ 1 am not reduced to that yet.” 

” 1 hope not, my friend; but you are burdened by a heavy debt of 
honor, and you have neither the money nor the credit to enable you 
to meet it. Where can you obtain the necessary amount within the 
next twenty-four hours?” 

Juliette would not refuse to loan it to me, if 1 should ask her.” 

” 1 should advise you not to attempt it. The baroness is very 
much in love with you, but she is not as tender-hearted as Madame 
de Listrac. Any feeling of self-sacrifice is a stranger to her, and 
nothing would induce her to impoverish herself for your sake. Be- 
sides, as 1 told you a moment ago, she has no ready money at her 
disposal.” 

“You need not be alarmed. 1 shall not expose myself to any 
danger of a refusal.” 

“ And you are quite right. It would be a thousand times better 
for you to negotiate with Madame de Listrac. if she will not for- 
give you and become reconciled to you, promise her that you will 
never offer any opposition to her going on the stage, if she will pay 
you one hundred thousand francs.’* 

“ 1 will think about it,” replied Listrac, shaking his head dubi- 
ously. 

Then, bidding his friend a hasty good-evening, he left the club- 
house and went home to review his embarrassing situation in soli- 
tude. 


CHAPTER VI. 

In the meanlime, Clara Monti had undergone a most cruel or- 
deal, and had bitterly expiated her generous weakness. 

On leaving her home on the Rue de Monceau forever, she went 
straight to the modest inn, at which Andrea Vitellio was staying. 
It was only necessary to mention her name for the girl to give her 
Cesare Quaglia’s letter of introduction, and throw herself into 
Clara’s arms, as if she had indeed found a mother in her. 

They instantly conceived a strong affection for each other, and 
Mme. de Listrac had not hesitated a second to propose that Andrea 
should live withJiBf^ any more than Andrea hesitated to accept the 
offer wilhou^^^^g any explanation of her protectress. 

Clara^ ^fl^Hj^ended to tell her protegee the sad story of her 
separati^HBpRier husband afterward, and also her plans for the 
future; I^^TOatshe desired at once was a companion, a friend who 


THE PKIMA DONNA S HUSBAND. 


75 


would divert her mind from her troubles, and also serve as a pro- 
tection afijainst slanderous tongues. 

That same evening the pair found themselves comfortably estab- 
lished in a handsome suite of apartments whose windows looked out 
I upon the Quai VoJtairc, and the countess entered upon the new 
life which her young companion strove to make as pleasant aa 
j possible. 

The first few days were engrossed by business matters, particu- 
larly by conferences with M. jouin who now blamed himself great- 
ly for having concluded the sale without obtaining more informa- 
tion in regard to the purchaser, and who gave Clara a good deal of 
advice which she refused to follow, however. The shrewd notary, 
on learning the facts of the case, was of the opinion that the Count- 
ess de Listrac ought to keep her money, and immediately institute 
a suit for divorce. This she absolutely refused to do. On the con- 
trary, she had faithfully fulfilled her promise to pay her unworthy 
husband’s indebtedness to his broker, and had even abandoned all 
idea of seeking a legal separation from the count, feeling that he no 
longer had any authority over her; and that even if he had, he 
would not have the audacity to assert it. 

Clara's sole aim now was to keep the whole unfortunate aftair as 
quiet as possible, and M. Jouin had promised her that he would say 
nothing at all about the matter, and that he would neither reveal her 
whereabouts nor movements to any inquiring friends. 

The notary had also taken upon himself the task of disposing of 
the household furniture, dismissing the servants and paying them 
the wages due them. Clara had no desire to keep anything that 
would remind her of the past. 

As soon as these business matters had been satisfactorily adjusted, 
Clara called upon the Marquise de Marvejols to apprise her of the 
real facts of the case, and to announce her intentions, which were 
at that time to leave France, never to return. 

The dowager received her rather coldly, but before the conclusion 
of the interview, she was obliged to acknowledge that her t;ousin 
Listrac was the one to blame in the matter, and not only to promise 
to defend the countess if attacked, but also to keep her present re- 
treat and plans for departure a profound secret. 

Clara made no attempt to conceal the act that she intended to re- 
ceive the friendly visits of M. Albert Darlige, and to avail herself 
of his proffered services whenever necessity required; and Mine, de 
Marvejols, who knew thatDartige was an honorable man, and Mme. 
de Listrac a virtuous woman, had made no protest, and sustained 
her cousin by marriage, in this decision, by declaring that Listrac 
deserved his fate, and by visiting Clara quite frequently, though she 
said nothing to any one about it. 

Dartige called even more frequently upon the countess, wdio felt 
obliged to welcome him cordially after all he had done for her, 
especially as he never overstepped lhe*bounds of respectful friend- 
ship; and though it might have cost him quite an effort not to trans- 
gress those limits at first, he had met with an entire change in that 
respect, and Andrea had certainly been an important factor in hi? 
conversion. 

He continued to serve Mme. de Listrac’s interests with a prudence 


76 


THE PKIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


and delicacy for wliich she was profoundly grateful; and he had 
noi only abandoned all idea of challenging the count, but had given 
up going to the club tor tear ot meeting M. de Listrac there. And 
though "Chanlai, who has not the same reasons tor holding himself 
aloof, kept him fully informed ot all that was going on, he sedulous- 
ly refrained from wounding Clara by telling her ot the count’s fol- 
lies and the gossip now everyw^here rite in regard to him and Mme. 
de Benserade. 

T he existence Clara Monti was now leading could be only pro- 
visional. Her fortune, though greatly impaired, enabled her to havre 
some other home than a hotel, and to choose the place of her per- 
manent residence. 

Besides, she must think of Andrea. 

She had resolved never to leave her, and this was very natural, 
for she now had no other aim in life than to insure a happy future 
for this young girl who reminded her of the only object of her affec- 
tions who had not deceived her. And what was this future to be? 
The girl dreamed only of dramatic fame, and Clara was satisfied that 
her protegee possessed all the attributes that make up a great artiste. 
She was a true musician in soul, and her old instructor had not said 
too much in praise ot her voice; but Clara Monti knew by experi- 
ence the cost of such triumphs, and to wliai these brilliant sue* 
cesses not unfrequently lead; so she had done her best to dissuade 
her young companion from a career which is even more dangerous 
than it is brilliant. 

She had not succeeded, however, for the enthusiastic girl of seven- 
teen not only entreated Mine, de Listrac to secure the long-coveted 
opportunity to make her debut, but was constantly urging her pro- 
tectress to return to the stage. 

Nothing could have been further from Clara’s thoughts when she 
left her husband; but a little later, the idea that her art might lessen 
her grief and disappointment did occur to her. She had tried to 
forget, but in vain. Her husband’s face was ever before her. Wliat 
good would it do for her to take refuge in Kussia, or to cross the 
Atlantic? It would be better tor her to remain in Paris. There, she 
would at least have the salutary spectacle ot her husband’s dissolute 
life ever before her eyes, and she could perhaps gain strength from 
it to resist the weakness she dreaded. 

But how should she employ herself in Paris, if she decided not to 
leave it? There was nothing to prevent her from resuming her old 
place in society. Public opinion, when fully informed of the situa- 
tion, must turn in her favor; and the society in which she had 
moved would not close its doors against the Countess de Listrac 
when the truth became known. She would be received everywhere; 
people would visit her, she would be petted and made much of, and 
the count’s unworthiness would be proclaimed from the housetops. 

But, after all, what would she gain by it? This revulsion of feel- 
ing would not restore her lost happiness. She had learned the hol- 
lowness of earthly friendship; and now thought with regret ot the 
days when art and independence had contented her. Operatic life 
had given her fame, wealth, and absolute freedom. Why should 
she not resume it? Why should she not drop the title ot countess. 


il THE PRIMA donna's HUSBAND, 77 

ij and once more Become Clara Monti, the idolized prima-donna, the 
I greatest lyric artiste ot modem times? 

Her hesitation was due principally to a want of confidence in her- 

J self, and an unwillingness to risk a trial which might prove unsuc- 
cesstul. She had not sung in public for five years, and she feared 

I that lier voice had lost some of its marvelous power and sweetness. 
While still in a state of indecision, she received a very unexpected 
visit from a manager who had just inaugurated a new theatrical 
enterprise, and who was seeking some great attraction. 

All Paris, ot course, knew that the celebrated Clara Monti had left 
her husband; but this impi'esario had, nevertheless, had not a little 
trouble in discovering her address. He came to offer her an engage- 
ment on the most favorable terms: Thirty performances, at five 
thousand francs an evening, with a promise of a renewal on the 
same terms the ensuing autumn, the spring season having barely two 
months to run. 

Mme. de Listrac replied, merely for form’s sake, that her husband 
might oppose her return to the stage; but the manager declared his 
entire willingness to dispense with the count’s consent, and to assume 
the whole responsibility of such a step. 

Clara then asked to be heard by competent judges, and this sort 
of private rehearsal had been a complete triumph, for her voice, 
strengtnened by a long rest, was ot greater range and more power- 
ful than ever. 

It was now necessary to accept or refuse without further delay the 
offers of this manager, who wished to open his place of amusement 
by the middle of March, in order to take advantage of the brief time 
that remained before the arrival of the dull season ; and Clara decided 
to accept, on condition that her name should not be announced until 
a few days before the first performance. 

She had very naturally chosen for her first appearance before a 
Parisian audience the opera in which she had achieved her most 
brilliant triumphs in former years, “ Romeo and Juliet,” and in the 
troupe organized by the new manager there were distinguished 
vocalists, fully competent to interpret Gounod’s masterpiece. 

At first, Andrea had manifested a strong desire to also make her 
dehut in the rOle of Stefano on the same evening; but the countess 
had more than one reason for wishing her protegee to wait. Clara 
had noticed for some lime that her faithful ally, Dartige, was not 
regarded with indifference by Andrea. He dared noi encourage this 
growing love on the part of her protegee, for she did not suppose 
that Dartige would think for a nroment of marrying a girl destitute 
alike of influential connections, wealth, and expectations; but feel- 
ing that he would be even less likely to marry such a person if she 
had been upon the stage, Clara was. unwilling that Andrea should 
deprive herself of her only chance of making such an eminently de- 
sirable marriage. 

Andrea yielded, and even submitted uncomplainingly to the edict 
that forbade her to cross the threshold of the Theatre-Lyrique. The 
countess, however, promised to take her there on the opening night, 
in order that she might witness the triumph of her protectress; but 
until that eventful day arrived, she would allow Andrea to accom- 
pany her only as far as the door when she went to rehearsal, tor it 


78 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


would be like pouring oil upon fire to bring one who longed for the 
stage as the children of Israel longed for the promised land, in con- 
tact with the enthusiastic artists of which this operatic troupe was 
composed. 

Andrea, who rarely left their rooms on the Quai Voltaire, found 
this daily walk very beneficial. At her age one needs air, excite- 
ment, and even diversion. She knew very little about Paris, but 
these promenades gave her an opportunity to see some portions of 
the great city. Kot the most frequented, nor the most fashionable, 
by any means, tor the young Italian was rather shy, and shunned 
the crowd; so, instead of directing her steps toward the main boule- 
vards, she spent her hours of solitude in wandering about the gloomy 
quays of the cite, and of the lie Saint Louis, sometimes prolonging 
her walk as far as the Jardin des Plantes, and returning by way of 
the Arsenal, to wait at the entrance of the theater for Mme. de 
Listrac. She went fearlessly about a city where young girls who 
venture out alone are oftentimes subjected to annoyance and even 
insult. She was quite able to defend herself; besides, no one ever 
troubled her. Her rather severe beauty was not of the type that 
attracts the attention of fashionable loungers. An artist might have 
stopped to admire her, the ordinary passer-by scarcely honored her 
with a glance. 

What subject engrossed her mind during these long but aimless 
excursions? The countess thought she could guess, for her protegee 
evinced much less ardor for the theater. She talked very little now 
about her debut, but she did have a great deal to say about Albert 
Dartige. She had inquired about the position he occupied in the 
world, and the information given by Mme. de Listrac seemed to have 
a depressing efiect upon her spirits. It is probable that she realized 
the width of the social gulf that separated her from a secretary of 
legation, and she evidently tried hard to conceal the interest he had 
inspired in her heart. 

Dartige’s manner totvard her was perfect. He was deferential, 
affectionate, almost tender; and yet, not a word that could be con- 
strued into a declaration of love had ever escaped him. 

The rehearsals were now drawing to a close, and the first perform- 
ance of “ Romeo and Juliet ” was advertised for the fourteenth of 
March. Clara Monti had only a week longer to wait for the verdict 
of the Parisian public, which, as yet, knew her only by reputation. 

She did not fear this verdict, but she did asK herself with not a 
litlle uneasiness what effect the announcement would produce. The 
Countess de Listrac seemed to be.well-nigh forgotten now; even her 
husband appeared to have forgotten her. Would this announcement 
recall the attention of the public to her private life? And in (hat 
case would the count remain silent, oi would he interfere at this 
most inopportune moment? 

However this might be, the die was cast. It was too late for Mme. 
de Listrac to recoil now, nor did she contemplate such a step. 

On the day following the victory of the Polish banker — who had 
not yet received his winnings, however — the wife of his victim re- 
paired to the theater, as usual, in company with Andrea; and as she 
paried from the girljat the door, she requested her not to go far that 
day, as the rehearsal was not likely to be as long as usual. 


79 


THE PKIHA DOiTIsA’S HUSBAKD. 

You will have to deny yourself the pleasure ot exploring all the 
islands of the Seine 1o day,’' she remarked, jrayly. “ There will be 
no rthearsal on Sunday, and to make amends tor your disappoint- 
ment, I will take you around the lakes of the Bois de Boulogne. 
Walk about a little, or take a seat on one of the benches in the 
square yonder, and 1 will rejoin you in an hour, or perhaps less.” 

“Are you never going to allow me to enter there, godmother?” 
asked Andrea, pointing to the TheStre-Lyrique. 

It was Mme. de Bistrac who had suggested that her protegee should 
call her godmother. Madame would b^e too ceremonious : “ Mother ” 
miglit cause unpleasant comment. 

“ I thought you had abandoned that project.” 

“lam less anxious, perhaps; but—” 

“You have not given it up entirely. Ah, well, we will see in a 
year — if you are not married.” 

“ Married! Who would have me? 1 am a mere nobody, and I 
have nothing.” 

“You are my adopted daughter, and 1 shall leave you all 1 pos- 
sess at my death.” 

“ Do not talk of dying, 1 implore you, godmother. 1 could not 
live without you. You are all I have in the world.” 

“ You forget your grandmother.” 

“ She is old. I can not have her long.” 

“ That is the very reason why you ought to marry.” 

“ 1 am very happy as 1 am.“ 

This response reminded Mme. de Listrac that marriage had not 
brought her happiness, and the recollection made her bring the con- 
versation to a hasty termination. 

Andrea watched her until she disappeared from sight through the 
door reserved for the performers, and then walked thoughtfully 
toward the square where the countess had promised to meet her, and 
seated herself in a spot where she could see Mme. de Listrac as soon 
as she left the theater. 

She had an hour to spend there, and as she had brought no book 
or work with her, she could only reflect on her present situation. 

She had dr^-amed ot becoming a great artiste, but her longings 
for dramatic success had given place to a new sentiment which she 
could not clearly deflne, "as she bad never experienced it before. 
She saw, now, that a woman’s life needs something more than 
fame to render it complete, and she discovered that she oossessed a 
heart. Did not the example of her protectress show her that life is 
nothing without love? Clara Monti, surfeited with success, had 
abandoned the stage, and thrown away her crown of laurels to re- 
place it by a simple wreath of orange blossoms, and though she had 
now returned to the stage it was only to find consolation for cruel 
treachery and deceit. Consequently there must be joys which 
Vitale Vitellio’s daughter had never known— joys which make one 
forget and brave everything, even the misery of being betrayed. 

She was engrossed by thoughts like these when, to her great sur- 
prise, she saw Dartige rounding a turn in the path. Whom could 
he be seeking in this unfashionable square? Certainly not Andrea., 
as she had just entered it now for the first time. Mme. de Listrac, 
perhaps. Still, it seemed hardly probable that she had asked him 


80 


THE PIUMA DOHHA’S HUSBAND. 


to escort her home after the rehearsal, for had she not requested 
Andrea to wait for her? 

It soon became evident that he had come for the countess, how- 
ever, for he glanced impatiently'at the The^tre-Lyrique, and drew 
out his watch to see what time it was. 

He had passed the young girl without noticing: her, and w^as now 
standing with his back toward her, but in a moment he turned, and 
began to look around him for a place to sit until Mme. de Listrac 
should make her appearance. 

This movement brought him face to face with Andrea, who had 
not moved from her quiet corner. 

“ You here, mademoiselle!” he exclaimed, not forgetting to 
salute her with mingled deference and politeness. 

“Yes,” stainmered Andrea, blushing hotly. “ 1 accompanied my 
godmother to the theater, and she asked me to wait for her here 
until she was ready to return home.” 

“ Then you will allow me to wait with you, perhaps. I must 
speak to Madame de Listrac as soon as possible, and as you are 
waiting for her—” 

“You have no bad news for her, I trust.” 

“ No, it is only something that 1 have just learned, and that 1 am 
anxious for her to know. 

“ But 1 am very glad to see you,” he added, seating himself be- 
side the girl. “ 1 have never had the pleasure of being alone with 
you since our first meeting in the garden of the Tuileries. 

“1 have not forgotten that pleasant meeting,” he continued, 
gently, “ and many times since 1 have blessed the lucky chance that 
enabled me to serve you beyond my hopes.” 

“ 1, too, have blessed it,” replied the girl, quickly. “ What 
would have become of me if 1 had not found Madame de Listrac? 
It is to you that I am indebted for the happiness of being her ])ro- 
Ugee to day — ” 

“ yay rather neT’ adopted daughter. She has told me twenty 
times that she will never leave you— that the idea of a separation 
from you would be intolerable.” 

“ I should die of grief if 1 were obliged to leave her.” 

“ Then you have no intention of marrying?” inquired Dartige, 
smiling. 

“ 1 have no such intention now, and 1 never shall have,” replied 
Andrea, promptly. 

“ Then you make a great mistake, mademoiselle, but you will 
change your mind by and by.” 

“ 1 think not, and it seems to me that you, yourself — ” 

“I am a man. My early manhood was spent in vainly search- 
ing — You see, I wanted to marry a girl whom 1 could love, and 
who could love me in return. I did not find her — to my very great 
regret — ” 

“ You have the wherewithal to console yourself: devoted friends, 
a congenial profession, a promising career — ” 

“ A career 1 would like to abandon. 1 have no ambition, and 1 
would gladly resign an embassy to win the wife for w’hom 1 long. 
But, unfortunately, 1 am too old. My ideal would not have me, I 
fear.” 


THE PRIM A DONKA’s HUSBAKD. 


81 


|,j “Would you marry MadamcMle Lislrac if she were a widow?’^ 
!! asked tho young Italiau, imprudently. 

■ This unexpected question disconcerted Dartige. He could not 
; help blushing, and it took him some time to reply: 

I “ L would have married her years ago. 1 will not try to conceal 
I that it depended only upon her. But she preferred Monsieur de 
Listrac.” 

' “ She has bitterly repented of it since.” 

! “ Possibly, but her feelings have not changed, while mine are no 

longer the same. You see, mademoiselle, that all strong protesta- 
tions are unwise. For instance, in a few years you yourself will 
not feel as you do now.” 

“Nor will you, probably.” 

“ 1 have passed the age of change. It is too late in life for me to 
waste my affection in that way.” 

“Ah, well, to make sure, 1 shall wait until 1 am thirty,” said 
Andrea, thoughtfully. 

“ Then you have fourteen years more to remain single,” replied 
Dartige, gayly. “l^ou must consider yourself invulnerable. Or 
have you a lieart of stone, that you can feel sure it will not throb 
before the date your prudence has appointed? I admire your 
strength of will and self-control, and wish 1 could say as much for 
mine. My heart is not in such sood subjection ; on the contrary, it 
has been my master ever since 1 came into the world, and 1 see no 
reason why 1 should ever cease to obey its dictates. If it bade me 
marry the poorest seamstress 1 should make no attempt to resist its 
mandate.” 

“ A seamstress, perhaps— but how about an actress?” 

“ I should not hesitate in the least, for if she loved me she would 
renounce the stage.” 

“ Then you would insist upon her renouncing it?” 

“ Yes, for 1 am satisfied that a woman can not serve two masters 
at the same time. Art is an exacting master. 1 should be very 
jealous of her art.” 

The girl started slightly, but made no reply. 

“1 should give the woman 1 loved a chance to choose,” con- 
tinued Dartige. “ Madame de Listrac has proved that she thinks 
as 1 do. She sacrificed her art. If she returns to it to-day it is only 
because her husband has deserted her, and 1 cordially approve her 
decision, as she has only her art to console her.” 

“1 have had no such unfortunate experience,” said Andrea, 
nai'vely, “ but 1 do not understand why my godmother should be 
so bilterlv opposed to my making my debuV' 

“ Probably because she thinks you would be much happier in 
making a love match.” 

“ Aet hers turned out very badly.” 

“ All men are not alike.” 

“ Is the Count de Listrac a villain?” 

“ 1 can not tell you all 1 know in regard to the circumstances that 
alienated him from her, but 1 assure you that you have it in your 
power to make a better choice. A"ou are not situated as Madame 
de Listrac was, when she married. She was rich, flattered, and 


THE PRIMA DOI^IS’A’S HUSBAND. 


82 

famous. A suitor might not have loved her for herself alone, for 
wealth and lame always have their devotees.” 

While 1 being poor and obscure have no attractions for any one, 
you mean?” 

” You should thank God for it, for you may be sure that any 
honorable man who asks your hand in Qiarriage must feel a sincere 
and disinterested love for you, so you cnn bestow it upon him in all 
confidence, unless he has the misfortune not to please you,” con- 
cluded Dartige, with an anxiety he did not attempt to conceal. 

‘‘ Such a man as you describe is my ideal,” murmured the girl, 
equally agitated, ” but 1 am acquainted with no such person, and 
1 don’^t think 1 ever shall be. ” 

” Would you like to make his acquaintance?” asked Dartige, 
with a looK that spoke volumes. 

The decisive moment had come. The conversation had gradually 
assumed such a personal character that only a single step was now 
necessary to arrive at a final understanding. Andrea, startled by 
this direct question, suddenly perceived that Dartige had placed her 
in a position where she could not avoid giving a direct answer. 

This answer was upon lier lips, tor she fondly loved this noble 
lover who had spoken to her so frankly, but she could scarcely be- 
lieve so much happiness was in store for her, and dared not say yes 
until she was sure that all this w^as not a dream. 

It was necessary to make some response, however. Dartige was 
evidently waiting for it. 

” 1 should like Madame deListrac to make his acquaintance first,” 
she finally stammered, with a poor attempt at a smile. 

“Oh, as to that,” cried Dartige, “the only reason 1 have not 
spoken to her is that I wished, first of all, to* know if there was any 
hope of my finding favor in your eyes, and 1 have never had an 
opportunity to ascertain until now.” 

“ You might have asked me in my godmother’s presence, 1 
should have answered you with the same frankness,” replied 
Andrea, softly. 

“ May 1 venture to call your attention to the fact that you have 
not answered me yet,” said her lover, smiling. 

“ 1 will consult Madame de Listrac, after you have spoken to 
her.” 

‘ ‘ And if she advises you not to condemn me to despair by a re- 
fusal?” 

“ 1 always obey her counsels, unquestioningly,” replied the girl, 
her eyes drooping, and a deep blush rising to her cheek. 

“Then 1 am sure that 1 shall soon be the happiest of men. 
Madame de Listrac knows me. She knows, too, that 1 am utter- 
ably incapable of feigning a love 1 do not feel. 1 am sure 
that she will plead my cause. 1 should have applied to her before, 
if she had not been on the eve of an event that is going to affect her 
whole life. Her return to the stage will be a brilliant triumph, 1 
um almost certain; still, she has enemies who may combine to ruin 
her. It was to inform her of their plans that 1 came here to-day. 
it will not take me long to do that, however, and then—” 

Dartige did not complete the sentence, and Andrea, glancing 
aip at him inquiringly, perceived that his eyes were fixed upon a 


THE PKIMA DOKHA’s HUSBAHD. 83 

man who was w’alkin^ along the sidewalk on ihe side of the square 
next to the The^tre-L 3 Tiqiie. 

“ What is the matter?” inquired the girl, anxiously, tor a cloud 
had suddenly' overspiead her companion’s face. 

“ One might suppose that he was going to the Theatre- Lyrique,” 
murmured Dartige, instead of replying. “ Yes, he is going straight 
toward it. Evidently it is upon her that he has designs. How can 
he have so much assurance, and w''hat is he intending to do?” 

” Of whom are you speaking?” inquired Andrea. 

” Do you see that man?” 

“ The one you are watching so attentively? Yes, certainly.” 

” That is the Count de Listrac.” 

” My godmother’s husband! Good heavens! he may liave evil 
designs — ” 

” He never has any other. But I can not imagine what they are, 
in this case.” 

What if lie should be intending to kill her!” exclaimed Andrea, 
springing up. 

” Men of his stamp do not kill. He has probably come to extort 
more money from his wife — to frighten her by threatening to op- 
pose her return to the stage, and induce her to purchase the consent 
for which he will make her pay a handsome price, 1 warrant you.” 

” We might hasten to the theater in advance of him, and warn 
my godmother,” suggested Andrea. ‘‘ She has forbidden me to 
enter the building, but you can easily obtain admission — ” 

” No; my interference would only injure Madame de Listrac, and 
yours would be useless. What w^e had better do is to watch her 
husband. Pray sit down, mademoiselle. He has not seen us, fort- 
unately, and I am very anxious that he should not.” 

Andrea complied with this request, and then concentrated her 
whole attention upon M. de Listrac who had just passed the south- 
east corner of the square. 

She saw him walk slowly across the Avenue Victoria, then pause, 
as if reluctant to proceed further; but he finally turned into the 
little street that extends behind the theater as far as the quay. The 
performers’ entrance to the TheStre-Lyrique is on this street, and there 
could be no further doubt that the count intended to obtain an in- 
terview with his wife if possible. 

‘‘ She will refuse to see him,” said Andrea. ” Godmother has 
given strict orders that no callers shall be admitted.” 

” In that case, he will wait for her outside,” replied Dartige. 

A few moments afterward, the count reappeared, and began 
walking up and down the broad sidewalk in front of the TheStre- 
Lyrique. 

Dartige’s prediction was correct: the count was waiting for his 
wife. 

” 1 knew he would not obtain admission,” said Andrea. 

” He did not tiy,” replied her companion. ” He merely went in 
to inquire when the rehearsal would be over, and as he was told that 
it would not last much longer, he will remain here until Madame 
de Listrac comes out. We can witness their interview from a dis- 
tance, for Madame de Listrac, knowing that 3^011 are waiting for 
her, will not allow her husband to escort her home. 1 assure you 


84 THE PHIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 

that you need apprehend no violent scene. See, he appears perfectly 
calm/' 

“ That IS true, and yet 1 can not help thinking that some danger 
threatens godmother.” 

“ A danger, 5 ’es; but 1 hope that she will escape it. Her safety 
depends entirely upon herself. We are powerless to aid her. If 
she has the courage to refuse to listen to this man, she will be safe 
from his persecutions henceforth and forever.” 

“ There she is!” exclaimed Andrea. “ She sees him, and draws 
back. But he approaches her — he is speaking to her.” 

” And she does not repulse him,” said Dartige, sadly. ” She is 
right, afer all. If she attempted to flee from him, he would follow 
her. It is better for her to finish with him here and now.” 

‘‘‘ She will. Don't you see by her manner that she is resolved 
not to listen to him?” 

” She is listening, however, — and see, she is answering him.” 

The husband and wife were certainly not quarreling. On the 
contrary, they stood upon the sidewalk talking quietly. Passers-by 
would have taken them for friends who had met by chance and 
paused to exchange a few commonplace remarks. 

But if Andrea and Dartige could have overheard the conversation, 
they would have realized that this interview was to decide Clara 
Monti’s destiny. 

” What do you desire?” w^ere her first words to her husband. 
” What is your object in coming here?” 

” 1 have come to implore your forgiveness, ’’ replied M. de Lis- 
trac, humbly. 

” After what you have done, forgiveness is equivalent to forget- 
fulness. You are already forgotten. I hoped I should never set 
eyes on you again.” 

” And my one desire has been to see you. 1 did not know where 
you had taken refuge. It was only yesteraay that 1 learned, through 
the papers, of your contemplatea return to the stage, ana supposing 
you rehearsed every day, 1 hastened here without a moment’s delay.” 

” Doubtless to inform me that 1 can not make my debut without 
your consent. 1 am aware that your consent is a legal necessity, but 
1 shall dispense with it. Try to prevent it if you dare.” 

“ 1 have brought you my written consent.” 

” Oh, yes, 1 understand. How much do you ask for it?” 

The count lifted his hand to his eyes, ostensibly to dash away a 
tear. Perhaps the tear was really there, for he knew how to weep 
when necessity required. 

” So you despise me,” he said, in a voice tremulous with emotion. 

” Yes,” replied Mme. de Listrac, unfalteringly. 

“I deserve this treatment at your hands,” said the count, with 
admirably feigned emotion, ” but 1 have not the ignoble intentions 
you impute to me. Here is my consent in writing,” he added, hand- 
ing her a folded sheet of paper. 

Clara took it without opening it or making any reply. The blow 
had told. She was already beginning to reproach herself for having 
accused her husband of an unworthy act he had not thought of 
committing. 

” Now, 1 trust you will no longer suspect me of wishing to extort 


THE PRIMA DOISTKA’s HUSBAIsD. 85 

money from you,'" continued Listrac. “Allow me now, to try, 
not to justify, but to explain, my conduct. To convince you that 
my repentance is sincere, 1 will begin by a full confession of iny 
faults. Yes. 1 have deceived you most shamefully. I have broken 
my plighted word; 1 have been guilty of the very sins which 1 sol- 
emnly promised, at 3 ^our feet, never to commit again. I was mad; 
my fortune had been swallowed up in stock speculations — 1 at- 
tempted to retrieve my losses at the gaming-table. 1 forgot that I 
was risking my honor, and 1 lost all."’ 

“ All this matters very little to me,” interrupted Clara. “ Talk to 
me rather about that woman who has usurped my place in 5 mur 
affections. Are you going to pretend that you did not know what 
you were doing when you allowed her to drive me from my home?” 

“You may believe me or not, but 1 swear — no, I have no longer 
a right to swear — 1 declare that she concealed from me her intention 
of purchasing the house. When 1 learned what she had done, it 
was too late to prevent the profanation. I can not think without a 
blush of shame of the terrible evening on which 1 learned all this 
from the farewell letter you had left for me. I had returned home 
disgusted with myself, incensed with the heartless coquette who had 
caused us both so much misery, and ready to fall at your feet to 
implore a forgiveness that you would not have refused me. But 
you were no longer there. 1 found only the cruel lines in which 
you curtly informed me that all was over between us. Then, 1 
thought strongly of killing myself, and often since, I have regretted 
that 1 did not blow my brains out on my knees before the arm-ciiair 
where you had so generously pardoned me only a few days before.” 

' “ And on leaving the home 1 had relinquished to this woman, 
you returned to her society,” said Clara, bitterly. 

“Yes; 1 was not then entirely cured of the poison she had poured 
out for me, but 1 am now. I was bewitched for a time; but the 
charm has flown. 1 know her now as she really is, this hateful and 
heartless creature who maddened my brain, and ruined my life. 
She now inspires me only with horror and loathing.” 

“ And you have sacrificed everything for her. 1 pity you,” said 
Clara, dryly. 

■ ‘Do not pity me: on the contrarj^ congratulate me upon my re- 
covery from the hideous nightmare that oppressed me so long, and 
upon having summoned up courage to at last make a resolve worthy 
of a man.” 

“ What! do you come to announce that you have quarreled with 
Madame de Benserade, apd that you wish to return to me?” 

“You wrong me. 1 know that 1 am not worthy to be your hus- 
band, and 1 do not blame you tor refusing to bear my name. That 
of Clara Monti is far nobler, for it is stainless, and you will yet 
make it illustrious. 1 do not ask to be reinstated in your favor. 
What 1 desire is to atone for my faults, or at least to expiate them 
by honest toil."* 

“ What do you propose to do?"" 

“What 1 ought to have done a month ago— leave the country. 
There is no place in France for a nobleman who has dishonored 
himself.’" 

“ That is to say, who can not pay his new gambling debts,” said 


86 


THE PKIMA DONHA’s HUSBAND. 


Clara, ironically, for she placed little confidence in these protesta- 
tions of repentance, and already began to anticipate a request for a 
fresh loan. 

“ If 1 were merely a bankrupt, I should remain in Paris,’' the 
count replied. “ I should be expelled from the club, but that would 
only be a punishment proportionate to the fault, but — 1 will have 
the courage to tell the truth — 1 am a forger.” 

Clara started violently. Shs was not prepared for so much frank- 
ness. 

“ No one is aware of the crime 1 have committed, as you have had 
the generosity to be silent in regard to it;” the count continued, ” but 
you know it, and that is more than 1 can bear. 1 will not be obliged 
to blush and hang my head with shame in the presence of the woman 
1 respect— and love. I will go away to die far from her, and with 
my latest breath 1 will pray that she may be happy — and that she 
may not curse me.” 

This time, Clara, who had heretofore kept the count at a distance, 
made such a sudden and unmistakable movement toward him, that 
Dartige and Andrea, who were watching the pair from a distance, 
instantly perceived it. They exchanged anxious glances, and Dar- 
lige muttered between his set teeth: 

“ She is going to yield. Ah! why did 1 allow the wretch to livef 
1 ought to have compelled him to fight with me, and 1 am sure that 
1 should have killed him I” 

jVlme. de Listrac had not yet forgiven her erring husband, how- 
ever. His confession had touched her deeply, and she approved his 
plan of exiling himself; but she did not believe his protestations of 
afitection, and had strong doubts of the sincerity of his resolution. 

“ You have decided wisely,” she said, forcing herself to be calm. 
” There is no other way by which you can retrieve your character 
in my eyes and in the eyes of the world, ^hen do you start?” 

In three days. My passage is engaged upon a vessel that is 
about to sail from London for Australia. There, 1 intend to engage 
in mining, and 1 shall land in Melbourne with a small sum of money 
that must suffice for my support until 1 can obtain a situation in 
some mining company. You see 1 have made all my arrangements. 
As for my creditors, I shall write to them before my departure and 
ask them to wait. 1 will pay them— when better days come.” 

” Your creditors— 1 thought you had none. The debts you con- 
tracted in your speculations were all paid ” 

” Y'^es, by you, and 1 received one hundred thousand francs from 
the money-lender who discounted the notes that bore your — indorse- 
ment. But I again fell a victim to the demon of play, and 1 lost 
everything. 1 have barely enough left to defray the expenses of my 
journey, and am greatly in debt besides.” 

” How much do you owe?” 

“ Nearly eighty thousand francs; but as 1 said before, my credit- 
ors will wait. 1 have alluded to my financial condition only to con- 
vince you that it will be impossible tor me to remain in Paris, and 
that you need have no fears of seeing me again. 1 came here in 
search of you, simply because the thought of leaving France with- 
out making a full confession to you was intolerable. Besides, 1 
thought that my absence, which will probably be prolonged into 


THE PKIMA DOHKA’s HUSBAND. 


87 


years, might place you in an embari assing position. You are about 
to resume the profession in which you won both tame and fortune; 
and you are right. It is the only way by which you can repair the 
breaches 1 have made in your fortune, and 1 sincerely wish you 
success. 1 feared, however, that some future manager— for you 
•will not always sing at the Theatre- Lyriqiic, might insist upon hav- 
ing my consent, before signing any contract with you. You have 
it now, and there is nothing left tor me but to bid you farewell. 

“ Kot until you have given me your address. 

“ Y'hy do you desire that? Can it be that you will consent to 
see me again before my departure?” asked Listrac, eagerly. 

” No,” replied Clara, firmly. “If I ever see you again it will 
be on your return, when you have bravely expiated the evil you 
have wrought. But 1 shall perhaps have occasion to write to you 
to-morrow.” 

A sudden gleam of joy shone in Listrac’s eyes, but he replied 
bumbly : 

“ If you deign to write to me 1 shall preserve your letter as a talis- 
man, and 1 am sure that it will bring me good fortune.” 

“ 1 hope so. 1 rely upon your promise. But it you should de- 
ceive me again 1 should die!” 

“ Die! You talk of dying! Ah, give me a ray, a single ray of 
hope. Let me hope that in two yeai's, in five years, in ten years, 
when you think 1 have suffered enough, you will allow me to again 
appear before you.” 

“ 1 can not say what 1 will do in the years to come, but now we 
must separate. Some one is waiting tor me.” 

“ i have lost the right to ask who?” murmured the count, shak- 
ing his head sadly. 

“ 1 will tell you. 1 have taken Vitale Yitellio’s daughter under 
my protection.” 

“ He was the painter you were to marry long ago in Florence.” 

And who was murdered by an unknown assassin. His daugh- 
ter came to Parts expressly to see me. 1 tell you this because my 
enemies may have slandered me and circulated a report that Andrea 
is my daughter.” 

“ Such a thing is not unlikely, and it makes me sick at heart 
when 1 think that 1 shall no longer be here to defend you.” 

“ I can defend myself,” replied Clara, quietly turning toward 
the square in which she had told Andrea to wait for her. 

The count followed her, and for a moment the husband and wife 
walked on, side by side. 

“ All is lost!” thought Dartige. “ She has become reconciled with 
him.” 

He did not read Clara’s heart aright, however. She was deeply 
moved, but she did not think for an instant of making any change 
in her plans, and she now paused in the middle of the avenue to 
dismiss M. de Listrac. 

“ 1 have already requested you to leave me,” she said, coldly. 
” Our interview has lasted long enough. You will hear from me 
to-morrow. Be content with this assurance, and go.” 

“Ah! 1 understand why jou are in such haste to leave!” ex- 
claimed Listrac. “ Monsieur Dartige is waiting for you.” 


88 


THE PRIMA DOXiTA’S HUSBAND. 


“ How dare you? Of what use is it to talk to me of — ” 

Clara did not finish the sentence, for, turning suddenly, she per- 
ceived Dartige and Andrea coming toward her. 

On seeing her approach with Listrac, Dartige could restrain him- 
self no longer, and thinking his interference might pievent the 
countess from again falling into this unscrupulous scoundrel’s 
clutches, he hastened toward her, dragging Andrea along with him. 

“ You are right, Monsieur Dartige is here,” Clara said, coldly. 

1 was not aware of the fact before, but i am very glad to see him. 
He is the only friend 1 have left, and you see that 1 am not afraid 
to intrust my adopted daughter to his care. You have no right ta 
demand an explanation of him, and 1 have no account to render to 
you. Go, and at once. If you persist m following me, in defiance 
of my commands, 1 shall take effectual measures to rid myself of 
you— and 1 swear that 1 will not write to you to-morrow.” 

M. de Listrac doubtless understood the covert meaning of this 
last threat, for, instead of insisting, he contented himself with ex- 
pressing his grief and submission by a rather theatrical gesture; 
then, with an angry glance at Dartige, and a despairing look at his 
wife, he hastened off without once pausing to look behind him. 

His ruse had succeeded. He had obtained what he desired. 

Clara watched him until he had disappeared around the corner of 
the Rue de Rivoli. 

His departure was timely, for the poor creature’s heart was almost 
breaking. She had had strength to resist the pleadings of an only 
partially extinguished passion, but her powers of endurance were 
well-nigh exhausted. 

Dartige and Andrea met her at the entrance to the square. They 
were quite as much embarrassed as she was, for though they had 
witnessed the interview they did not know whether to refer to it or 
not. 

She did not give them time, however. 

“ 1 did not expect to meet you here, but 1 am very glad to see 
you, nevertheless,” she said to Dartige, ottering him her hand. 
” There is something 1 wish to say to you.” 

” And 1, too, have something that 1 wish to say to you,” he re- 
plied. 

” I feel the need of a little exercise. Have you any objections to 
returning home on f oot ?” Clara said, turning to her adopted daughter. 

” 1 was about to suggest it,” replied Andrea. ” 1 feel cold after 
sitting so long in the shadow of the tower.” Then seeing a rather 
anxious look upon Mme. de Listrac’s face, she added: ‘‘ But I did 
not find the lime at all long, thanks to Monsieur Dartige, who kind- 
ly kept me company.” 

” Then you have been with Andrea some time?” asked the count- 
ess. 

Dartige answered the question without an instant’s hesitation. 

” You had Just left mademoiselle,” he said, ” when 1 caught sight 
of her on crossing the square; 1 spoke to her and she told me she 
was waiting for you, so—” 

‘‘You did quite right, my friend,” interrupted Clara. ” Pray 
accompany us home. 1 wish to talk with you about some import- 


THE PRIMA DOHIS^a’s HUSBAND. 89 

ant matters. They will not interest Andrea in the least, however, 
so—” 

“ So 1 will walk on in advance of you, godmother,” exclaimed 
Hie young Italian, whose tact never deserted her. “ If 1 get too 
far ahead of you call me.” 

As she spoke she started ofl: with a quick, elastic step, and Mme. 
de Listrac and Dartige walked on, side by side, without exchanging 
a word. 

It was not until they reached the Place du Chatelet that the 
countess broke the silence. 

” You saw me talking with Monsieur de Listrac, did you not?” 
she inquired. 

” Yes, ” replied Dartige, “ and so did Mademoiselle Yitellio.” 

“ That does not matter. 1 have no secrets from her, no more 
than 1 have from you. 1 wish you to know all that passed between 
my husband and myself.” 

” What if 1 should tell you that 1 can guess?” 

“ But you can not. He came to bring me his written consent 
for me to sign any engagement 1 may choose to make.” 

‘‘ That is to say, he sold it to you. L was sure of it.” 

” You are very much mistaken. He gave it to me without any 
conditions whatever.” 

” How can you suppose that he has deprived himself out of pure 
kindness of heart of the only weapon he had against you? There 
is something concealed behind this generosity, believe me.” 

” No, for 1 shall never see him again. He is about to leave 
Prance for many years, and, perhaps, forever.” 

” He told you so, but—” 

” it will be an easy matter for me to satisfy myself of the truth 
of his statements. 1 have his address, and in three days 1 shall 
know whether he has only been trying to deceive me or not. You, 
too, will know, for his departure will doubtless be the chief topic 
of conversation at the club. Monsieur de Listrac has lost every- 
thing. He has not money enough left to pay his debts eyen.” 

” But he expects 5mu to pay theirr.” 

” 1 half offered to do so, but he refused.” 

” Because he felt sure that you would do it even if he did protest. 
He has changed his tactics. He does not attempt to sotten your 
heart by protestations of love, because he thinks that you will not 
allow yourself to be deceived by them a second time, but — ” 

‘‘ Then you do not think that a man who has sinned so deeply is 
capable of repentance?” interrupted Clara. 

‘‘ If your husband repents of anything it is of having lost at the 
baccarat table all the money he succeeded in extorting from you. 
No, 1 do not believe in these sudden conversions. A man may^ 
return to the path of rectitude, but not in a single day. He must 
first regenerate himself by honest effort.” 

” 1 agree with you, my friend, and that is exactly what 1 just 
said to Monsieur de Listrac. But he is going to begin his work of 
expiation by exiling himself and earning his daily bread by ardu- 
ous toil. By and by, I am to judge him by his conduct, and see if 
1 can forgive him.” 

” And has he accepted these conditions?” 




90 


THE PRIMA DOKI^'A’s IIUSBAHD. 


“ He himself proposed them ; and if 1 offer him any assistance 
before his departure it will be entirely of own free will, for he 
did not ask me for it/’ 

“What! you think of giving him more money! Ah! if 1 only 
dared to tell you what use he will make of it.” 

“ 1 understand you, my friend, but he assures me that he has 
parted from that woman forever, and it is a comfort to me to be- 
lieve it. If 1 am mistaken do not rob me of my illusions. They will 
cost me only a little money, for 1 swear to you by all 1 hold most 
sacred, that all is at an end between him and me. If 1 have resolved 
upon a final sacrifice, it is only because I do not wish any more 
contumely heaped upon the name 1 have borne. Nor will this sacri- 
fice embarrass me to any great extent, The sale of my household 
furniture, and of my horses and carriages has yielded quite a hand- 
some amount which my notary holds at my disposal. If 1 devote it 
to saving my husband from the disgrace of not paying his gambling 
debts 1 am sure that Andrea will never reproach me.” 

“ Andrea!” repeated Dartige, surprised and not a little annoyed. 

“ Yes, for she will inherit all my property at my death. My will 
is already made. 1 have an idea that 1 shall not live very long, and 
after my death the dear child will be quite wealthy. She will not 
be obliired to go upon the stage, consequently, and that is a great 
comfort to me, for 1 confess that it would pain me very much l> 
think that she would ever be exposed to all the dangers that environ 
a young and beautiful prima donna.” 

“ And now that 1 have told you all my plans, let us change the 
subject. Let us talk of my dehut. My debut! 1 can not help smil- 
ing when I utter the word. One would think 1 was twenty again. 
If I succeed my triumph will complete my rejuvenation, and 1 
must succeed, for a failure would kill me. 1 have even taken 
measures not to survive it.” 

“ Whar. do you mean?” cried Dartige. 

“Nothing. * 1 was only thinking of my will. However, 1 shall 
not be obliged to remain in this state of uncertainty long. The 
first performance of ‘ Romeo and tluliet ’ is announced for Friday 
next. Juliet is my best role. All the other cnaracters are admirably 
sustained by members of the new troupe, organized by my mana- 
ger. If 1 fail it will be because there is no longer any place for me 
in the world.” 

“ By the way, what do you think the result will be? You go 
into society a great deal, and you know what people predict? The 
fact that 1 intend to return to the stage is known by everybod}" now. 
What do you hear said about it?” 

“ All wdiose opinion is of any value, think that your return wdll 
be a triumph; but you know that you have enemies as well as 1 
do.” 

“ 1 have but one that 1 know of — Madame de Benserade— and 1 
do not think that she will have the audacity to hiss me.” 

“ She is capable of anything: and she will be aided and abetted 
by men and women who are no better than she is. It is not impossi- 
ble that she will get them together to disturb the performance, espe- 
cially if Monsieur de Listrac has quarreled with her, as you say. 
A rumor is afloat that a cabal has been formed; and 1 came ex- 


THE PRIMA DOITHA'S HUSBAND, 


91 


pressly to warn you of the fact; but 1 am satisfied that the public 
wilt silence the malevolent, and that its judgment will prevail. ’’ 

“ Heaven grant it! Aou will be there, will you not? Your pres- 
ence will encourage me; besides, i promised Andrea that 1 would 
take her with me; and 1 am anxious that you should be there to 
take caie of her. She is so youog and so enthusiastic that the excite- 
ment might turn her head completely. 1 shall depend upon you to 
persuade her to listen to reason. 

“ By the wa^’’, you have just had a long talk with her. What did 
she say to you about her pet scheme of going upon the stage? A 
scheme 1 don’t approve of at all.’* 

“ 1 have done my best to dissuade her from it; and 1 flatter my- 
self that 1 have succeeded. But 1 scarcely dare to tell you the means 
1 employed.” 

“You probably represented to her that a pure young girl ought 
to marry an honest man, and that a good husband is worth far more 
than the plaudits of a crowd that will perhaps hiss her to-morrow.” 

Dartige seemed in no haste to reply. He felt that after his con- 
versation with Andrea, he ought to frankly admit to Mme. de Lis- 
trac that he had just ofliered himself to her protegee y and yet he hesi- ^ 
tated. The words did not come. He wondered how the countess, 
whom he had formerly loved, would take this avowal. A woman 
may not reciprocate nor even value a man’s affection in the least, 
but she is seldom pleased to learn that this man loves another. His 
position was an embarrassing one; but the best way to get out of it 
was to tell the truth without reserve. 

“ 1 did still better,” he replied at last. “ 1 proposed to her.” 

“Proposed to her!” cried Mme. de Listrac. “You, who are 
wealthy, and hold a high social position, you would marry a com- 
paratively poor and obscure girl. And your career ?” 

“ 1 can renounce that without the slightest regret. 1 am even 
sorry that 1 have not done it before. An opportunity to insure my 
lifelong happiness presents itself, and 1 intend to take advantage of 
it.” 

“ Are you in earnest?” 

“ So deeply in earnest that 1 have just made her a declaration of 
love; and you surely do not think me capable of attempting to de- 
ceive any young girl, and especially one whom you love as if she 
were your own daughter?” 

“ What answer did she give you?” 

“ She told me she should be guided entirely by your advice; and, 
by the way, 1 think she suspects what we are talking about.” 

Andrea, taking Mme. de Listrac’s hint, had walked briskly on 
for awhile, keeping quite a long way ahead of them, but after a 
time she slackened her pace, and when she reached the long portico 
of the museum, the distance between her and her friends had been 
very sensibly diminished. The place was well adapted for an ex- 
planation; for pedestrians are rare upon the Quai de Louvre, 

The countess called lo her adopted daughter, who instantly 
paused, and began to retrace her steps. 

“ Is what Monsieur Dartige fells me true?” inquired Clara, 
almost brusquely. “He tells me lh£.t he wishes to become your 


92 


THE PBIMA DON ha’s HUSBAND. 


husband; and he adds that you are not unwilling he should be, if I 
have no objections.’' 

“ It is true," replied Andrea, without the slightest hesitation. 

“ You love him, then? Why have you never admitted as much 
to me?" 

“ Because 1 did not know that he loved me." 

Andrea had no false modesty, and did not know how to cast down 
her eyes and stammer, like most well-bred young ladies, so the 
looked the honorable man who had asked her to marry him full in 
the face, as she frankly accepted his offer. 

The countess appeared much more deeply agitated than the child 
of her adoption. Turning her eyes upward, as if to implore God’s- 
blessing on this quiet betrothal, she faltered, 

“ It is well! May 3 ^ou be happier than lam!" 


CHAPTER VII. 

The eventful evening is come. The facade of the Thetltre- 
Lyrique is ablaze with lights, and a long line ot carriages is deposit- 
ing a crowd of white-cravated gentlemen, and diamond-decked 
ladies at the door. Every seat in the house was sold three days ago. 
All the fashionables ot Paris are assembled there. 

!Not a few persons, who were unable to purchase seats, have come 
just the same, for fear it should be said that they failed to witness 
the great prima-donna's debut. 

It sufficed such as these to be able to be seen in the foyer with a 
gardenia in their button-hole, and to bow to the fashionables of their 
acquaintance as they pass. To-morrow they will describe their im- 
pressions, go into ecstasies over the most effective scenes, and criti- 
cise the rendering of certain airs which they did not even hear. 

The morning papers will furnish them with the necessary in- 
formation. 

I’he impresario who had staked his fortune upon Clara lVlonti'& 
success, bad, of course, advertised the performance of " Romeo and 
Juliet," with its exceptionally brilliant cast, as extensively as pos- 
sible. This outlay of money was entirely unnecessary, however, 
for his flaming placards had been far less potent than the gossip of 
fashionable drawing-rooms, where this step on the part of the Coun- 
tess de Listrac had been the all-absorbing topic of conversation for 
a week past. 

The count, too, had received his full share of public criticism. 
His conduct since his separation from his wife began to be severely 
censured, and public sentiment was fast becoming openly hostile to 
him. 

It was not much more favorable to his victim, how^ever. Many 
did not hesitate to say that Clara should have remained in 
seclusion. If she had not money enough to live upon, she might 
be excused for resuming the profession by which she had acquired 
the fortune her husband had in great part squandered; but it was 
known that she had not been reduced to abject poverty, so she was 
greatly blamed for disgracing the title she had borne for five years 
past, by a return to the stage, for no one seemed to think for a mo- 
ment that she had been actuated by a sincere love for her art. 


THE TKIMA DOHXA’S HUSBAND. 


03 


In short, Clara Monti was to be judged by a curious rather than 
friendly audience. She knows it, and does not feel sanguine of 
success by any means. 

She has good reason to feel satisfied in several other respects^ 
however. 

Andrea’s marriage will take place in a short time. Dartige has 
resigned his diplomatic position and devotes his whole time to his 
betrothed, lie is a welcome visitor at all hours; and it has been de- 
cided that he will wed Vitale Vitellio’s daughter as soon as Clara 
Monti’s engagement is concluded. All three will then leave tor 
Florence, where the marriage will be solemnized in the Church of 
Santa Maria Novella. 

In compliance with the orders of the countess, M. Jouin tians- 
milted to M. de Listrac the amount necessary to pay the gambling 
debts recently contracted at the club. The entire proceeds of the 
sale of Clara’s household furniture went in this way. On the receipt 
of this money, the count addressed to his wife a note containing 
only the following words: 

“ Heaven bless you — you who have never cursed me. 1 leave 
Paris this evening, and 1 shall perhaps never see you again. Let 
me tell you once more thatl love you, and that my last thought will 
be of you. Farewell. Think of me sometimes in my exile.” 

Clara carried this touching letter in her bosom, and read and re* 
read it times without number; but she had not neglected to ascertain 
if Get)rge had really kept his promise. Inquiries cautiously made 
by M. Jouin elicited the information that M. de Listrac, after set- 
tling his debts at the club and elsewhere, had left by rail, for Lon* 
don. 

Consequently, he was now on his way to Australia; and the ten- 
der-licarted Clara almost began to regret that she had permitted him 
to depart. 

Dartige had also investigated the matter, and satisfied himself be* 
yond a doubt that the count had visited the club only to withdraw 
his notes from the sate in which they had been deposited, and pay 
them; and none of the members of the club doubted Listrac’s de* 
parture. Some few pitied him; others had already forgotten him. 

So Clara now has nothing to fear; at least nothing but the verdict 
of the public; and for two days she has been thinking only of her 
Tole. There has been no public rehearsal, as the manager was anx- 
ious to avoid premature criticism on the part of the journalists; but 
Clara feels tolerably sure of herself, and the other members of the 
troupe predict a great success. 

While the audience gradually takes possession of the spacious 
theater, the prima-donna is completing her toilet in her dressing- 
room, assisted by Andrea, whom she has brought with her, accord* 
ing to promise. 

Albert Dartige is Waiting in the actors* foyer tor her to call him 
when her toilet is completed; and to pass aw^ay the time, he enters 
into conversation with the manager, who is bustling about with a 
well-satisfied air. 

‘‘ What do you think the result will be?” inquires Dartige. 

“ A brilliant triumph, my dear sir. There will be a shower of 


94 


THE PRIM A DONKA'S HUSBAND. 


bouqueis; and the Monti will be recalled a dozen times. Ail the 
notables ot Paris are here. Have you seen the audience? Ho? 
'Well, come with me.‘’ 

The manager leads Dartige through the wings, where Capulet’s 
guests were already assembling, across the brilliantly lighted ball- 
room in which Romeo is to meet Juliet in the first act, and straight 
to the lowered curtain. 

By placing his eye to one of the holes in the canvas, Dartige per- 
ceived that the manager had not exaggerated. The theater was 
magnificently decorated, and what was far better, it was nearly full, 
though it was scarcely eight o’clock. Fashionable society, contrary 
to its custom, had Honored the Countess deListrac by arriving before 
the beginning of the overture. 

Dartige saw many familiar faces; among them, that of his friend 
Chantal, who occupied a seat in the first row of orchestra chairs; 
while in a box on the left of the stage sat Mme. de Benserade, in a 
startling toilet, and loaded with jewels. She was not alone in her 
box, but had brought Moulieres and two other gentlemen with her, 
but no companion of her own sex, her device being; “I, in myself, 
am sufficient.” 

“ Well, what do you think of it?” asked the manager, rubbing 
his hands, complacently. “ Are there not flowers and diamonds in 
profusion? All the flowers will be on the stage before the end of 
the evening. The diva will walk upon a bed of camellias and vio- 
lets.” 

“ 1 hope and believe so. But there are some here who have come 
to hiss rather than applaud.” 

” Hiss? hiss, did you say? What can you be thinking of, sir? 
Does any one ever dare to hiss at the Italiens. 1 expect my theater 
to outvie the Italiens in its palmiest days— the days of Patti and 
Grisi. My audience is composed of the elite of the city, and Clara 
Monti is the greatest singer of modern times. If any one ventures 
to make the slightest disturbance he will be unceremoniously hustled 
out of doors.” 

Just then, the stage-director came up to say that everything wms 
in readiness, and Dartige thought he might venture to present him- 
self at the prima-donna’s dressing-room. He found her radiantly 
lovely in the rich toilet which set ofi her stately beauty to wonderful 
advantage. 

Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and her lips were wreathed in 
smiles. It was evident that she felt no misgivings now. 

“ Bo here you are, my friend!” she said, offering Dartige her hand. 
‘‘ I have been a long time dressing. What do you think of my 
toilet?” 

” It is superb and wonderfully becoming.” 

” It seems to me that 1 do not look so very much older, after all, 
and 1 never was in better voice. But I hear the bell. The curtain 
is about to rise, and 1 go on in the third scene. Accompany me to 
the place where Capulet, my noble father, awaits me, and then take 
good care of Andrea tor me, the rest ot the evening.” 

” As Monsieur Dartige will be with me, are you not willing that 1 
should stay in the coulisses. There, I can see and hear you.” 

“If the stage-direcior makes no objections and if our friend here, 


I 

! THE PEIMA HUSBAITD. 95 

doesn’t dislike the idea ot being jostled by the Veronese who are 
.1 going to sing the opening chorus.” 

I As Clara lett hei dressing-room in company with Dartige, she 
turned to him, and whispered hastily: 
j “ That woman is here, is she not?” 

I “ Alas! yes, but— ” 

“Oh, 1 do not fear her now. My husband is far away. He must 
I have sailed yesterday. She has already found consolers, 1 suppose, 
and 1 am not sorry for her to witness my debut, for if it should prove 
a success, it will be some slight revenge for the wrong she has done 
me. 

! “ Now, my friend, 1 must give my attention to my r61e, so return 

to her who will soon be your wife. You know what an excitable 
; temperament she lias, so it she becomes too deeply agitated, en- 
' deavor to calm her. ” 

Andrea, who had followed them closely, flung her arms around 
the neck ot her protectress to kiss her. 

! “ Remember my rouge and pearl powder!” cried Clara gayly. “ 1 

have had no end of trouble in making myself up. You shall kiss 
me alter the last act — after the scene in the tomb. 1 shall he dead, 
but 1 will come to life to allow you to give me a dozen of your 
hearty kisses.” 

Just then, the signal was given for the third scene, and the prima- 
donna walked away, preceded by the stage-manager. 

Capulet’s guests, male and female, in masks and dominos, were 
singing the chorus, L'heure s'envole, joyeuse et folle. The fete 
^ was beginning, slightly disturbed by the opening and shutting of 
’ doors, and the noisy clicking ot the seats as their owners took pos- 
session of .them. 

Then the house gradually bbcame more quiet, and the audience 
more attentive as the short" recitative that precedes the entrance of 
Juliet began. 

AVhen she appeared led by her noble father, there was an instant’s' 
hesitation. Eveiy glass was leveled upon her, and those among the 
audience who had known the Countess de Listrac asked themselves 

- if it could really be she the}^ saw before them, looking at least ten 
years younger than formerly, and quite beautiful enough to captivate 
the heart of any Romeo of ancient or modern times. 

She advanced slowly and paused before the orchestra began the 
prelude to the dancing aii. Then, and not until then, did she look 
at the audience, which now burst into a storm of applause. 

The ice was broken; sympathy and admiration look possession of , 
every heart, and even those who had inveighed most loudly against 
her return to the stage, were compelled to do homage to her stately - 

- beauty and regal carriage. 

Clara lifted her head, and without a bow or gesture returned 
thanks merely by an eloquent glance. 

Darlige breathed freely again. The victory was well-nigh won 
since they applauded the woman before the singer had opened her 
lips; and Andrea, speechless with emotion, silently pressed her 
lover’s hand. 

Then came the entrance of Romeo accompanied by his friend. 


96 


THE PRIMA HOHHA’s HUSBAKD. 


Merculio, who sung “ Queen Mab/' to which little attention was 
paid; then, the conversation between Juliet and her nurse. 

All this, however, serves merely as an introduction to the morceau 
in the first act, the famous duet with Romeo for which the audience 
always wait anxiously in order to decide if the singer who has as- 
sumed the r6)e of Juliet is really a great artiste, or only a more or 
less well-trained soprano, devoid of soul and intelligence. 

There is more than one way of rendering this exquisite duo ; and 
singers who are not thoroughly en rapport with the situation often 
strive to produce efiects nol suited to it. It should be sung very 
simply, and not without a certain reserve. Romeo casts this re- 
serve aside, however, when he tiies to press a kiss upon the hand of 
Juliet, who finally yields, giving vent to her emotion in the musical 
ciy; '' All, je n'ai pu rrden defendre."' 

Uttered by Clara Monti, it moved the entire audience, and was 
followed by one of those murmurs of admiration that are more flat- 
tering than the loudest applause. 

After this first triumph, there could be no doubt that others were 
to follow, for this prima-donna evidently excelled in impassioned 
scenes, and the rest of the play is made up of these, while the first 
act contains only this tender episode in which she could give a fore- 
taste of her power. 

Uartige did not care to remain to witness the expulsion of Romeo 
and his friend from the entertainment of the Capulets, so he pro- 
posed to his companion that they should return to Mme. ListiMc’s 
dressing-room to offer her their congratulations, and Andrea needed 
no urging. 

They reached it in advance of the prima-donna who soon entered, 
escorted by the manager, who was profuse in his praises and compli- 
ments. Mme. de Listrac seemed strangely unmoved by them how- 
ever, and even dismissed him rather biusquely, on the pretext that 
she wished to save her voice as much as possible, and as this voice 
was his most precious treasure, he took good care not to insist. 

Juliet makes no change in hei costume between the first and 
second acts, so the attendant was also dismissed, and Clara Monti 
wa<i left alone with Uartige and Andrea. 

“ It was a success, was it not?” she asked. 

“ Aes; in every sense of the word. And this triumph is nothing 
in comparison with what is to come. You will create 2 i. furore in 
the due de V Alouette.^^ 

“ Heaven grant it!” murmured the countess. 

” Can it be possible that you have any doubts of it?” 

“ ISo. 1 feel sure that I shall sing it well, and j^et — I am afraid.” 

“Afraid of what? The audience are in raptures, and even the 
other members of the troupe are lauding you to the skies.” 

“ They have all been kindness itseif to me. Romeo found an 
opportunity to compliment me in the highest terms when he kissed 
my hand. In former years, 1 should have been radiant ; now, 1 feel 
strangely depressed. 1 am haunted by a presentiment of approach- 
ing misfortune, and when 1 stepped upon the stage 1 fancied 1 was 
going to be hissed.” 

“And you have been applauded, con furore, as they say in Ital^y.” 

“ Yes, even in the first box on the left,” said Clara, with a mean- 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 97 

ing glance at Darliffe. “ I noticed Monsieur des Moulieres there. 
Who are the others?” 

“ Some of his worthless associates probably.” 

” It was so dark in the box that 1 could not see the persons who 
were seated in the back part of it,” remarked Clara. 

‘‘ 1 looked, but 1 think there is no one there. If you wish to be 
certain, however, 1 have a friend in one of the orchestra chairs who 
can ascertain for me.” 

‘‘You would oblige me very much by asking him then. The in- 
termission will be quite long as they have to set the balcony scene, 
and you will have plenty of time to exchange a fe^ words with 
your friend and return here before the curtain rises.” 

‘‘ I am at your service, of course; though 1 do not understand 
why you should feel the slightest anxiety. 1 know that the occu- 
pants" of the box are unfriendly to you, but they will not dare to in- 
dulge in any hostile demonstration.” 

” It is not that I fear.” 

Then what can it be?” 

“ 1 can hardly explain, my friend,” replied the countess. ” My 
imagination is very apt to get the better ot me. 1 am extremely 
nervous this evening, and I must not be if 1 would acquit myself 
well in my great duet in the next act. Do me the favor to set my 
fears at rest by obtaining this information for me. 

‘‘You understand me, do you not?” 

Dartige did understand perfectly, but he was astonished at this 
change in Mme. de Listrac's mood. Before stepping upon the stage, 
she had been brave and composed; nor had she evinced the slightest 
reluctance to brave the malevolence of her rival; but now, she seemed 
afraid to reappear before her, and was evidently consumed by an in- 
tense anxiety to ascertain who Mme. de Benserade’s companions 
were. Could it be she fancied that her husband was in the box — 
her husband who must now be on his way to Australia? 

However this might be, Dartige could but obey. He found that 
Chantal had left his seal, probably to go out into the foyer. Before 
following him there, Dartige cast a searching glance at the suspected 
box, but detected no change there except that Moulieres and his 
friends had moved back, leaving in the front of the box only the 
baroness, who sat talking to them, with her hack to the audience. 

Seeing that he would gain nothing by remaining there, Dartige 
made his way to the foyer, where he had no difficulty in finding 
Chantal, who slipped an arm in his, remarking as he did so: 

” 1 felt sure that you would be here this evening, but I have been 
looking for you in vain.” 

•‘ 1 accompanied Madame de Listrac, and—” 

” And you have been staying in her dressing-room or in the 
coulises. 1 suspected as much. But you ought to say Clara 
Monti. There is no longer any Madame de Listrac. She certainl}^ 
acted wisely in resuming her former profession, for she sings 
superbly, and the stage will suit her much better than married 
life. She is well rid of her lascally husband at last, I hear. 1 was 
told yesterday at the club that he had left for some unknown land.” 

” For Australia.” 

” A good riddance to him! But 1 am surprised that he has taken 
4 


98 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


it into bis head to exile himself. Men of his stamp generally sink 
lower and lower, until they reach the very slums. Are you sure 
that he has left Paris? The baroness is here this evening, with 
Moulieres, and two or three other gentlemen, 1 notice.” f 

“ i saw them, and came to ask you if there is not another ot our ' 
acquaintances with them. From your seat you can command an 
excellent view of the box and its occupants.” 

“ Do you think 1 have been wasting my time in watching that 
good-for-nothing set? I have scarcely glanced at them. Still, it 
does seem to me that 1 noticed quite a commotion in the box just 
now. Those who had been sitting in the front ot the box turned, 
and finalty seemed to gather around some new-comt;r. 1 ca,n't tell 
you who he was, as I did not see him, but what difference can it 
make to you? Tou surel}^ have nothing in common with that 
crowd?” 

“No, certainly not, but — ” 

” Where have you been keeping yourself? You are certainly 
spending your six months leave in a singular manner. After being 
snowed up in Russia for five years you return to Paris, and instead 
of going about and enjoying j^ourself you bury yourself like a 
hermit.” 

“ That is because I shall have plenty of time at my disposal by 
and by. My vacation will never end, for 1 have sent in my resigna- 
tion.” 

” So much the better. You ought to have given up such an un- 
profitable profession long ago. 1 am very glad to hear it. I shall 
have a friend, a congenial friend now, and we will resume the life 
of former years.” 

” With one very important difterence, however. 1 am about to 
marry.” 

” Nonsense! Can it be that you are going to marry the Monti! 
No. What a fool I am. She is not a widow, that is unless her 
husband has been drowned at sea. By the way, 1 understand now 
wuy you asked me the question you did just now. Y^ou fancied 
that he had not gone, but w^as hiding in Madame de Benserade’s 
box. He is quite capable of such a thing, but 1 hope you will not 
try to pick a quarrel with him if you meet him. A gentleman cau 
not fight with a scoundrel like that. 

“ Besides, such an encounter would be absurd for a number of 
reasons,” continued Chantal. ” In the first place, his life does not 
compare with yours in value, and you would make a great mistake 
in fighting with him, for he might kill you, while if you should kill 
him you could not decently marry his widow.” 

“ You can set your mind at rest on that score, my dear fellow,” ' 
said Dartige. ” 1 have no more idea of marrying Madame de Lislrac 
than 1 have ot challenging her husband, who must now^ be travers- 
ing the waters ot the broad Atlantic.” 

” But you just told me that you were contemplating immediate 
marriage. Who is the fortunate lady?” 

” A young lady who is under Madame de Listrac’s protection.” 

” But where did she come from? No one has ever seen her at 
the Countess de Listrac’s, or anywhere else.” 

‘‘ She came from Italy about six weeks ago.” 


I, ' THE PllIHA DOKXA S HUSBAND. 99 

lil:' 

ji And that has been long enough for you to fall so deeply in love 
^as to wish to marry her. The deuce! you have certainly made 

i ^uick work of it! And you have consulted only your own heart 
In making this matrimonial venture. This is delightful! Where 
does the young lady live?” 

, “ She has been residing with Madame de Listrac ever since her 
arrival in Paris, and she accompanied that lady to the theater this 
evening.” 

“ What! you think it well for your future wife to spend her 
evenings in tlie greenroom?” 

” One evening only, and under my protection. I have just left 
her, and shall rejoin her again before the curtain rises.” 

” That is right, but if i were in your place I should ask Clara 
Monti to leave \iqv protegee at home hereafter.” 

‘‘No such request is necessary. That has already been agreed 
upon.” 

*‘ And when is the wedding to come ofl?” 

“ 1 am to be married in Florence the latter part of the month of 
May.” 

” In Florence! And I have been flattering myself that 1 should 
have the pleasure of acting as one of the witnesses.” 

‘‘ And why can’t you?” 

” Impossible, my dear fellow. 1 can not leave Paris in the middle 
of the racing season. It is the only time that 1 am not bored to 
death, for I love horses. But 1 hope you will introduce me to your 
betrothed before your departure. What is her name?” 

” Andrea Vitellio. She is the daughter of a distinguished Flor- 
entine artist.” 

” A tenor or basso, 1 suppose?” 

‘‘No, a painter who died while he was still young, and just as he 
was beginning to win a name for himself.” 

‘‘ Then he left his daughter no fortune, 1 suppose?” 

“ 1 have money enough for both of us.” 

The conversation suddenly came to a standstill. Dartige saw 
that Chantal did not approve of the marriage, and Chantal per- 
ceived that he had wounded his old friend by not sympathizing 
with his satisfaction. 

They took several turns up and aown the foyer, bowing and re- 
ceiving bows in return, for there were many of their acquaintances 
present, but without exchanging a single word. 

Dartige was saying to himself, ‘‘ My most intimate friend thinks 
I am making a great mistake in marrying Andrea.” Chantal was 
thinking, ” Poor Albert must certainly have lost his senses, for this 
Italian is most probably a mere adventuiess.” 

While they were both engrossed in thoughts like these the warn- 
ing bell sounded, and the pfbmenaders began to hasten back to their 
seats. 

Dartige bad promised to report to the countess before the begin- 
ning of the second act, so he had not a moment to lose. 

” 1 must leave you, my dear fellow,” he remarked to Chantal. 

‘‘ But 1 shall see you again before the close of the performance, 
shall I nut?” inquired his friend. 


100 


THE PRIMA DOXXA'S HUSBAND. 


“ Perhaps so, but in any case 1 shall drop in to see you to-morrow 
morning. 1 want to have a talk with you.” 

”1 shall be glad to see you at any time, as you know. In the 
meanlime you can reassure the countcv^s, for 1 have seen no signs of 
her husband. 1 have an excellent lorgnette, and i will take another 
look at Madame de Benserade’s box, however. If 1 should discover 
Listrac there 1 will certainly find some way to inform you of the 
fact, but by this time he must be many hundreds of miles away 
from here.” 

“ 1 think so, too. Thank you. Au rewir, my friend.” 

They separated at the foot of the staircase, Chautal turning to 
the right, and Dartige to the left. 

The door leading behind the scenes was at the end of the corridor, 
and to reach it one was obliged to pass the box occupied by the 
Baroness de Benserade. The man who usually guarded this door 
was not at his post, or rather he was on the other side of the door, 
and before rapping for him to open it Dartige could not help glanc- 
ing at the suspected loge. 

The oval window which serves as a ventilator for the boxes was 
not closed, and the sound of voices from within reached the eager 
ears of Clara’s champion. The conversation was in a very high 
key, so high, indeed, as to give the impression that the inmates 
were quarreling, but as they were all talkins: at the same time 
Dartige could not distinguish what they were saying. 

He was tempted for an instant to peer into the interior of the box 
through the opening, but this was an act of which no honorable 
man would be guilty, he felt, so he contented himself with drawing 
a little nearer and listening more attentively, without realizing that 
in doing this he was likewise playing the spy. 

He was stanaing close to the door, and with his tack to the en- 
trance of the corridor, when he received a violent push from the 
rear, and this push was followed by a vigorous and well-directed 
blow. 

Dartige, furious with anger, turned impetuously, resolved to in- 
flict instant chastisement upon the rude person who had thrust him 
so roughly aside, but he paused, speechless with astonishment on 
flnding himself face to face with the Count de Listrac, who, though 
equally astonished, gazed at Dartige with an insolent air, apparently 
waiting for him to speak. 

He was not obliged to wait long. 

” 1 knew that you were a scoundrel,” said Dartige, white with 
anger, ” but 1 did not know that you were a boor.” 

‘‘ 1 knew that you are my wife’s lover,” replied Listrac, ” but I 
did not know that she w^as in the habit of sending you to listen at 
doors.” 

The only reply was a resounding blow that must have been heard 
in the box, for M. de Mouliere’s face appeared at the window. 

M. de Listrac made a movement as if to spring upon his assailant, 
who was quite strong enough to strangle him, but he restrained 
himself, and said, with comparative calmness: 

” This time the difficulty will not end here, as at the Cafe 
Anglais. 1 shall kill you to-morrow, my flne gentleman.” 

“ No, if there is any killing to be done you may rest assured that 


THE PRIMA DONKA'S HUSBAND. 


101 


I shall do it,” retorted Dartige. '‘You, however, will probably 
i deem it more prudent to forget my address, as you did about a 
i mouth ago. 1 do not ask yours because 1 do not suppose that you 
have any place of residence.” 

j ” Pardon me,” sneered Listrac. ” I have been spending a few 
! days in England, it is true, and 1 returned to Paris only this even- 
ing, but 1 have resumed possession of the same apartments 1 oc- 
j cupied before my departure. My wife will tell you where they are. 

I Y^ou may rest assured that you will see two of my friends at your 
house early to morrow morning, however. Now, do me the favor 
to trespass upon my time no longer. 1 came here to enjoy myself, 

I and do not wish to lose a single scene of ‘ Romeo and Juliet.’ ” 

While the couut was speaking the door of the box had been 
opened by one of its occupants, and Ligtrac took advantage of the 
I opportunity to slip in and slam it in the face of Dartige, who did 
not kick it open as he felt strongly inclined to do. 

The second act was just beginning, and any violence would be 
sure to attract Clara’s attention to the box her husband had just 
entered. 

Being in doubt as to what course to pursue Dartige finally decided 
to consult Chantal, so retracing his steps he endeavored to make 
his way to his friend’s seat, but finding this an utter impossibility 
by reason of the crowd, he concluded to remain in the aisle until 
the end of the act. 

In his agitation he had entirely forgotten the stage setting of the 
second act, though he had seen Gounod’s opera performed more 
than once. The scenery represents a garden, with Juliet’s home 
and its famous balcony on the left hand side of the stage, and as 
Mme. de Benserade’s box was on the same side, the actress who 
personated Juliet could not see it from her balcony. 

Dartige recollected the several scenes of this short act perfectly 
well. 

First Juliet appears upon the balcony, beneath which Romeo 
sings, ” Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon.” 

She finally descends, and even comes out into the garden; but 
only a little way. Indeed, she scarcely goes beyond the threshold, 
and re-enters the house almost instantly to escape Romeo’s impas- 
sioned protestations of love, so Dartige had good reason to hope that 
Clara Monti would not neglect her acting to watch her rival’s box, 
and tliat she consequently would fail to notice her husband. 

In the third act Juliet appears only in the first scene, the one in 
which she marries Romeo in Friar Laurence’s cell ; and in which she 
could not see very plainly, as the lights would be dim. 

The hopes of Dartige were realized. Clara Monti, utterly oblivious 
of the spectators, at least to all appearance, sung with such perfec- 
tion the delicious morceau, ” Ah! tu sais que la nuit te cache mon 
msage ” (” Thou know’st the mask of night is on my cheek ”), that 
there was an outburst of the wildest applause. 

“ Heaven grant that they do not recall her after the act!” thought 
Dartige. *' In that case she will be obliged to advance to the foot- 
lights, and then all will be lost.” 

The curtain fell without any contretemps whatever, and Dartige 
succeeded in waylaying his friend Chantal on his way to the foyer. 


102 


THE PKIMA DOXHA S HUSBAHD. 


“ He is there!” he whispered. 

“ 1 saw him,” replied Chantal, shrugging his shoulders; “ but 1 
noticed, too, that his wife did not seem to be much troubled by his 
pr sence.” 

“That is not the question now. 1 have just struck Listrac a 
blow in the face, and we fight to-morrow.” 

“ And you think of imposing upon me the agreeable task of acting 
as your second, 1 suppose. 1 would much rather serve as a witness 
to 3'our marriage, even though 1 were obliged to make the journey 
to Florence. You seem to have resolved to destroy all my peace of 
mind by your acts of tolly.” 

“ What you style acts of folly are only proofs of wisdom,” re- 
torted Hartige, quickly. “ This marriage will insure my life-long 
happiness, and 1 can not, under penalty of disgracing myself, refuse 
to fight with a man 1 have struck.” 

“And how the deuce did you come in contact with this scoundrel, 
■who will certainly end his days in a penitentiary?” asked Chantal. 

“ I met him in the corridor just as 1 was returning to the green- 
room. Lisliac nearly knocked me down, either intentionally or un- 
intentionally, and 1 called him a boor. He insulted me even more 
grossly; and—” 

“ And you struck him. 1 should have done the same. You are 
right, after all. As the wine is drawn we will have to drink it. 1 
will act as one of your seconds, and will engage to find the other. 
Do you give me full permission to decide upon the sonditions of the 
duel?” 

“Yes, but 1 wish it to take place as soon as possible.” 

“ It shall come off to-moriow. Meet me at the club, after the 
performance, and 1 will tell you what has been agreed upon. I will 
detain you no longer now, as 1 suppose you are in a hurry to rejoin 
the diva and your betrothed. My compliments to Clara Monti. She 
has been superb.” 

Dartige found the prima-donna in her dressing-room. She greeted 
him with a smile, and he saw by her serene face that she was still 
ignorant of her husband’s presence. 

Andrea did not seem as light-hearted as her benefactress. 

“ Is this the way you keep your promises?” cried Clara. “ 1 ask 
you to return before the curtain rises, and you do not make your 
appearance until the act is over.” 

“ That is true,” replied Dartige. “ 1 was detained by my friend 
until the act began, and not wishing to miss the balcony scene 1 re- 
mained in the hall. You rendered the great duet superbly. 1 can 
still hear the words you sung with so much expression ” 

“Yes, 1 was in capital voice; but your friend saw no one!” 

“ He had eyes only for you. He is enraptured with your singing.” 

This evasive reply dispelled Clara’s apprehensions entirely. 

“ 1 thanii you, m}^ friend,” she said, earnestly. “ Thanks to you, 
1 am now tranquil in mind, and 1 feel sure that everything will go 
on smoothly to the end. You must hear me sing the lark duet in 
the fourth act. 1 am almost sure that j^ou will be well pleased. 1 
had some misgiving at first, 1 must confess, especially as 1 could not 
keep my mind entirel} upon my part; but it is very different now. 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


103 


and 1 am beginning to enjoy my success. 1 was afraid, however; 
for it was a case of life or death for me — and I expected to die.” 

This remark was capable of two entirely different interpretations, 

' and had the manager been present, he would certainly have thought 
his prima-donna was firmly resolved not to survive a failure. 

I But Dartige knew that it was Listrac’s presence that would have 
proved fatal to Clara; and her words troubled him greatly. He felt 
I that she could not cherish the present illusion long, and yet he had 
j not the courage to destroy it. 

Be turned to Andrea to hide his emotion, and he fancied that she 
read his thoughts, and seemed to share his fears; but JMme. de 
I Listrac was blind to all this. 

■ She began to talk of their approaching marriage, of the pleasure 
it would give her to visit Florence with them; of the happiness 
; that was in store for them, and of her own plans for the future. 

She had decided, she said, to sing five years longer — that would 
give her ample time to regain her former fortune— and she would 
then purchase a beautiful villa in Italy where Andrea and her hus- 
band must spend the winter months of each year with her. 

The conversation was interrupted by the manager, who came to 
i congratulate Clara, and also to complain of some of the trifling an- 
' noyances that are sure to mark the first performance ol any opera. 
Borneo declared that he was completely exhausted, and felt afraid 
that he would break down in the lark duet; Nurse Gertrude had 
! been attacked by a sudden fit of hoarseness; Friar Laurence was in 
a terrible passion because his robe was too tight in the arm-holes; 
and there was some trouble about the scenery that represented a 
street in Veiona, with the Capulet mansion in the distance. 

Clara listened patiently to all these crievances, and comforted him 
with the assurance that everything would come out all right. Now 
that she was no longer afraid of seeing her husband in Mme. de 
Benserade’s company, nothing troubled her; and when some one 
came to tell her that the curtain was about to rise, she said gayly to 
Albert : 

’* 1 hope you will not leave Andrea at all this time. Sh^ will not 
remain quietly in my dressing-room, and 1 do not like her to stay 
alone in the coulisses.^* 

It was quite unnecessary to remind Daitige of his duty to his be- 
trothed; as he was impatient lo find himself alone with her, lor to 
her alone could he reveal the truth. 

Moreover, it seemed to him more than likely that Andrea had been 
on the side of the stage opposite the balcony where Clara had sung in 
the second act, and so had also caught sight of the Count de Listrac, 
whom she had plenty of time to scrutinize closely on the day he 
wajdaid his wife near the square opposite the Theatre- Lyrique. 

He was not mistaken in this supposition; tor, as soon as they were 
alone, she said lo him: 

” He is here; but, very fortunately, godmother has not seen him. 
But if he remains in that box — ” 

‘‘ He will remain there, and all is lost,” murmured Dartige. 
gloomily. 

‘‘ If 1 were a man 1 would find a way to get him out of it.” 


104 


THE PRIM A donna's HUSBAND. 


Dartige started violently; but he could not tell Andrea that he 
had just struck Listrac, and that they were to figlit the next day. 

“ 1 tried to prevent him liom entering it,” he replied, almost sul- 
lenly; “ but 1 failed, and my only hope now is that the countess 
will not look toward the accursed box.” 

“ 1, too, hope so. Aou have reassured her, and she may forget all 
about her husband now. I wish we could watch her, but that is im- 
possible in this scene. The best we can do is to listen through the 
canvas that represents the walls of Friar Laurence's cell.” 

Thej^ did so, and heard tlie clear voice of the diva say, unfalter- 
insrly: “ This is my chosen husband. Unite us, in the presence of 
Heaven.” 

It was evident that she had not yet perceived Listrac. 

The scene continued without interruption, though Listrac fancied 
that her voice changed a little in the passage, “ 1 swear to love him 
forever,” and still more in the appeal, ” Saviour, be thou my stay! 
Saviour, be thou my hope.” 

Still, this was not strange, as Juliet would naturally be greatly 
moved on receiving the benediction that unites her to Romeo. 

Five minutes afterward Dartige and xAndiea were obliged to beat 
a hasty retreat to avoid being seen by the audience. 

They met Mme. de Listrac at the door ot her dressine-room. It 
seemed to them that she was paler than usual, and that her eyes 
glittered strangely; but the smile returned to her lips as soon as she 
saw them. 

“ Heaven be praised!” thought Dartige. “ She has not seen her 
husband, and she will not be likely to see him now.” 

Andrea furtively pressed the hand of her betrothed. She, too, 
felt reassured. 

They were about to follow the diva into her dressing-room, but 
she turned to them, and said i 

“ Excuse me if 1 ask you to leave me quite alone until the end of 
this scene. 1 would like to look over my part in the great duet again. 
Besides, 1 have a fresh toilet to make. 1 must try on my bridal 
wreath and arrange my hair so that it will tumble down about my 
shoulders, just as 1 swoon. A true artist must attend to all these 
minor details herself.” 

Then, turning to Dartige, she added: 

“ 1 am cured, you see, and have become a coquette again. Now 
go to the greenroom, my friends; 1 will send for you before the 
commencement of the fourth act.” 

The lovers were obliged to comply with Mme. deListrac’s request, 
thmigh they did so with evident reluctance. 

” AVhy did godmother send us away?” asked the young girl, as 
they wended their way to the greenroom, which they found deserted, 
for "all the members of the company, except the prima-donna, were 
on the stage. 

” She told you why.” 

“ But 1 am inclined to think that was only an excuse to get rid 
of us. Did you notice her eyes? Their expression changed entire- 
ly. Just now, in the marriage-scene, she stood directly opposite that 
woman’s box; and 1 am almost sure that she saw her husband.” 

“ If she did, we have cause to congratulate ourselves that she takes 


THE PPtlMA DONNA^S HUSBAND. 


105 


the discovery so calmly. Her reason must have gained its ascend 
ency, and whispered tiiat such an insult is worthy only of scorn.” 

I' “ i ou do not know her. The more deeply she feels the more 
strenuously she endeavors to conceal her feelings. 1 tell you she is 
wounded to the heart.” 

, A prey to the direst misgivings, Dartige and Andrea waited im- 
I patiently for the promised summons. 

The third act ended, and all the preparations for the fourth act 
were completed belore a call-boy came to announce that the diva 
I was ready to see them. 

They hastened to her dressing-room, and found her ready to go 
upon the stage, and perfectly calm, apparently, though very pale. 

I “1 have kept you waiting a long time,” she said gently. “For- 
give me, as you would forgive me, 1 trust, for causing you much 
deeper annoyance. The present is a critical moment, for this act is 
to decide whether my return to the stage is a triumph or merely a 
success, so 1 naturally desired time to compose myself. 

“ Now, there is nothing lett for me but to ask you to pray tor me.” 

“ Pray for you, godmother!” exclaimed Andrea; “ why, we pray 
only for the dead or dying.” 

“You can pray for the audience to cover me with flowers. I 
have hit upon an entirely new effect, and I hope it will please my 
audience — the feminine portion of it, particularly.” 

“The curtain is about to rise, madame,” announced the 
prompter. 

“lam ready.” 

She left them, followed by an attendant bearing the bridal wreath 
which she was to place upon Juliet’s head during the short interval 
between the scenes. 

“ flow strangely godmother just spoke to us,” murmured Andrea. 

“ bhe has seen her husband,” replied Dartige. “ This is no time 
to attempt to console her, however. AVe will try to reason with her 
after the performance.” 

“ Come and listen to me when 1 sing the lark duet,” Clara had 
said to them. “ Betw^een the scenes 1 shall have an opportunity to 
exchange a few words with you, if you do not leave the coulisses.'^ 

Dartige and his betrothed gladly accepted this invitation; and in 
a few moments they heard the perfect voice of the diva singing, “ 1 
have forgiven thee;” then came the great duet, “ Must thou then go? 
It is not the laik, but the sweet nightingale — ” 

This was followed by the wildest applause, and cries of rapture 
from every part of the house, the fashionable audience casting aside 
all its usual reserve to m.anifest its enthusiastic admiration tor this 
incomparable singer. 

Such transports of delight had never before been witnessed within 
those walls: and when Romeo, who had also surpassed himself, de- 
scended from the balcony, the audience frantically insisted upon a 
repetition ot the duet. 

Juliet is left alone upon the stage only for a moment. Her father 
comes almost immediately to announce that Paris is waiting to con- 
duct her to the altar; and as soon as he departs. Friar Laurence 
enters and presents her with the vial whose contents will produce a 
death-like slumber that will last at least twenty-four hours. 


106 


THE PRIHA DOHNA's HUSBAND. 


Ilis deep baas voice resounded like one of those funereal chants 
that the Catholic Church has consecrated to the dead, and tilled 
Andrea and her betrothed with a gloomy presentiment of approach- 
ing misfortune. 

“ What it it should really be a poison?” murmured the young 
girl, shuddering. 

“Impossible,” said Dartige with an assurance he did not feel. 
“ The vial has not been out of the hands of the actor who person- 
ates Friar Laurence.” 

They could not see the stage, but they could hear the words Juliet 
speaks after draining the vial: “ For you 1 jdeld up life,” then the 
shrill whistle of the scene-shifter resounded, and they beat a hasty 
retreat. 

There was a short intermission between this and the following 
scene; and Clara Monti joined them, according to promise. While 
her bridal wreath was being adjusted, she said, addressing Dartige: 

“ A strange desire to write to you seized me just now, my friend. 
The letter is on the toilet-table in my dressing-room. Go and get it 
and read it. 

“ Andrea, my child, kiss me. Oh, you need not be afraid of 
rubbing off my rouge now. It is right for me to be pale now, as 
1 am about to swoon, you know. Give me your hand, Albert. May 
you te happy. Farewell.” 

“ Farewell?” repeated Andrea uneasily. “ Why do you not say 
aurewirV 

Clara made no reply. Capulet' was waiting to lead the procession 
with her, and Friar Laurence, who was bringing up the rear, paused 
an instant as he passed to remark to Dartige: 

“ Our prima-donna is feeling far from well. Fortunately she has 
not much to do in this scene; but 1 don’t know how she will get 
through with it, for she can scarcely stand.” 

Then he added, hastily, and in lower tones: 

“ If she has poisoned herself it is no fault of mine. When she 
pretended to drink the poison it was not my vial that she raised to 
her lips; besides, my vial was empty.” 

“ To your place, to your place, my dear fellow,” cried the 
prompter, pushing Friar Laurence forward. “Stand a little fur- 
ther back, it you please, young lady and gentleman.” 

They were obliged to obey, but they saw' Juliet as she walked 
upon the stage led by her father, seat herself to receive the 
congratulations and flowers presented by the guests, who had been 
bidden to the marriage feast. 

“ It is true,” muttered Dartige, overwhelmed with consternation. 
“ She can scarcely hold herself erect; and it seemed to me just now 
that she tottered as she walked.” 

“ Good heavens!” cried Andrea. “ Can it be thatw'hat she raised 
to her lips, instead of the vial — was — ” 

“Was what?” 

“ A ring wdiich she always wears, and which contains an almost 
instant I neous poison.” 

Just then Capulet assisted Ouliet to rise in order to place her hand 
in that of her promised husband. Count Paris. 


THE PKIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAND. 


107 


Clara Monti still had sufficient strength to loosen her bridal 
wreath, and her long black hair streamed down upon her shoulders. 

Then, in a faint voice she said, rather than sung: “ What dark- 
ness surrounds me — ” 

Then, after a long pause, “ Is this death? 1 am afraid. My 
father, farewell,’' and falls into the arms of a bystander, while 
Capulet exclaims, “ My daughter dead! Just heaven!” 

All this was a part of the opera, and Clara Monti had enacted her 
rdle throughout with matchless power. 

Never had such a natural death-scene been witnessed upon any 
stage, and the curtain fell to wild shouts of ‘‘ Bravo!” and cries of 
“ Monti, Monti!” from every side. 

They were recalling her to give her an ovation such as no actress 
had ever received before from that critical and rather Ume audi- 
euce. 

But upon the stage, behind the curtain, there were equally frantic 
cries of “ A physician, send for a physician!” and there was a hor- 
rified and excited crowd around Clara, who gave no sign of return- 
ing to life, and who had been placed in the arm-chair in which she 
had sat for an instant before yielding up her life. 

Dartige could not realize that she was dead, and stood there as 
motionless as if turned to stone. 

But Andrea had forced her way through the crowd and thrown 
herself upon the body of her benefactress, sobbing wildly, and kiss- 
ing her ice-cold hands. 

Every one was wild with horror; the Montagues, the Capulets, 
and even Romeo, who was sobbing like a child, for the great artiste 
had already won the afi:ection of her companions. 

Friar Laurence, the only person wffio seemed to have some of his 
wits about him, had rushed oft in search of a physician, and soon 
returned with one. 

He had probably disclosed his suspicions to the doctor, for imme- 
diately on his arrival, and even before he had examined the patient, 
the learned practitioner emphatically declared that this was a clear 
case of poisoning. 

An examination confirmed this hasty diagnosis. The diva’s heart 
had ceased to beat, and no moisture dimmed the mirror that was 
held to her lips. The silvery voice would never be neard again. 
Clara Monti was dead. 

The physician wished to remove the fatal ring from the prima- 
donna’s finger, but Dartige objected. Now that the poison had done 
its deadly work, what would be gained by analyzing it? 

Andrea, still upon her knees, wept and moaned in the most heart- 
breaking manner, and the sad scene was rendered still more harrow- 
ing by the entrance of the unfortunate manager, who rushed in 
wringiue his hands, and bewailing his unfortunate fate. 

“Ruined, I am ruined!” he cried, wildly. “It is an outrage! 
An artiste who has made an engagement has no right to kill herself 
before fuifilling it! If she has any heirs, 1 shall demand damages 
of them.” 

“Monti! Monti!” yelled the impatient audience. 

“ They are calling her before the curtain,’' muttered the distracted 
im'presario. ‘ ‘ They do not even kno w that she is dead. They think 


108 THE PKIMA DOKiTA’S HUSBAl^D. 

it only a part of tlie play, and want the fifth act, the awakening of 
Juliet, and a repe tition of the famous lark duet. Ah well, you will 
not get it, you cormorants! The Monti is dead, and she will not 
come to life for you to shower bouquets upon her.” 

“ It will be necessary to make some announcement, sir,” suggest- 
ed the director. ” What shall I say to them?” 

“You need hot promise them the return of their money. They 
have had the worth of it. 1 even think you had bettor not tell them 
she is dead. They will hear the news soon enough. Announce 
that a sudden and very severe indisposition whch has attacked our 
prima-donna, prevents her from thanking them in person tor the very 
flattering reception they have accorded her, and from completing 
the performance.” 

” Very well ; but I must first have the stage cleared.” 

But without wailing for his orders, four stalwart Capulets had 
already lifted the arm chair in which George deListrac’s victim was 
sleeping her last sleep, and borne it away. 

Andrea and Dartige followed the gloomy procession to Clara’s 
dressing-room. There the physician laid the body upon a sofa, and 
sent away every one except the lovers, whom he took for relatives 
of the prima-donna. 

The letter she had written to Dartige before poisoning herself was 
on the toilet-table. He put it in his pocket. This was no time to 
read it. He had to sustain and console Andrea, who was prostrated 
with grief ; but as he thought of the cowardly scoundrel who had 
been the cause of Clara Monti’s death, he muttered, under his hreath: 

” Rest in peace, noble woman! You shall be avenged!” 


CHAPTER VIll. 

While Clara Monti was singing for the last time, and dying to 
the sound of enthusiastic applause, as a brave soldier dies at the 
hour of victory, other almost equally thrilling scenes were being 
enacted in the building. 

The Baroness de Benserade had attended the performance that 
evening partly out of curiosity, and partly from a spirit of bravado. 
tShe wished to see if her rival’s debut would prove a victory or a 
failure; but she was, above all, anxious to prove that she was not 
afraid to show herself after the recent scandal of which she had 
been the heroine. 

Everybody knew that the Countess de Listrac had returned to the 
stage only because her husband had left her to become the open 
admirer and acknowledged lover of a heartless and unscrupulous 
woman. 

What every one did not know, however, was that Mme. de Ben- 
serade had supposed herself well rid of the handsome Listrac for- 
ever. 

When her triumph over her hated rival became assured, she be- 
gan to tire of her victim, especially when she found that his finan- 
cial reverses made him anything but an eligible parti for a woman 
of her extravagant habits. 

Frequent quarrels were the iiatural result of this growing dissatis- 
faction on her part; but George clung to the baroness as a drowning 


THE PlllHA DOHHA's HUSBAND. 


109 


man clings to the branch that bends beneath his weight, and know- 
ing her nature, he carefully abstained from speaking of his losses at 
the card-table or in speculation, being well aware that she had no 
fondness for impoverished men. 

M. de Moulieres took good care to keep her fully informed, how- 
ever, and she secretly resolved to be patient, and not to break with 
George so long as there was any chance of his retrieving his fort- 
unes, for she really loved him as well as it was in her nature to 
love any one — but to promptly sever all relations with him as soon 
as he found himself without either resources or credit. 

Such was the state of afitairs when, a few days before the first 
performance of Romeo, the count called on Mme. de Benserade to 
announce that he was about to make a short visit to London, in 
order that he might not be in Paris on the night of his wife’s debut 
at the Tlie^tre-Lyrique. 

Of his recent losses at baccarat, and of his pecuniary embarrass- 
ment generally, he said never a word. He had his plans, but he 
did not think it advisable to confide them to her. 

He would have lost nothing by telling her the truth, however, as 
she was thoroughly acquainted with the situation, thanks to Mou- 
lieres; but as she was naturally rather kind-hearted, she had bidden 
her George a tender farewell, without allowing him to suspect that 
she was perfectly resigned to never seeing hitn^again. 

She had even carried dissimulation so far as to ask him if he had 
any objections to her taking a box for Clara Monti’s first appear- 
ance, and he had answered by hiring (he box for her himself. 

As George was to leave for England the following day, she had 
offered seats in this box to three gentlemen acquaintances, one of 
whom was Moulieres. 

The latter was now rapidly nearing the goal at which he had been 
aiming tor the past three months, for whal better could the Baron- 
ess de Benserade do after her rupture with Listrac than to marry her 
old suitor Raoul de Moulieres? It was certainly her best available 
means of retrieving her reputation, and regaining her footing in so- 
ciety, after the late unfortunate scandal connected with her name. 

Moulieres saw plainly enough that she was not very strongly in- 
clined to take advantage of this opportunity; but he felt confident 
thac he should be able to persuade her to do so by convincing her 
that they were made for each other; and in thii he was quite right. 

Thinking that the first performance of “Romeo and J uliet ” would 
afford him an excellent opportunity to press his suit, he had re- 
solved to profit by it, and he was consequently very disagreeably 
surprised when he saw Listrac enter the box before the conclusion 
of the first act, as tranquilly and smilingly as if nothing had hap- 
pened, and quietly lake possession of the chair one of the other gen- 
tlemen relinquished to him. It was next to that of the baroness, 
who knew not what to think of this unexpected return, and Mou- 
lieres was equally in the dark. 

“You were not expecting me, 1 see,’* remarked Listrac, gazing 
at her with annoying persistency. “ One would suppose that you 
were under the impression that 1 had gone away for good. 

“ Here 1 am, however,” he continued, with a light laugh, “ and, 
knowing that I should find you here, I did not take the trouble to 


110 


THE PKIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


write to you announcing my arrival. Besides, I did not decide to 
return until the last moment. Then both the wind and the sea 
combined against me, but 1 reached Paris at last, and do not feel the 
slightest desire to leave it again. ’’ 

The baroness and Moulieres exchanged furtive glances. They 
wondered if Listiac had lost his senses entirely. 

“ Hotv strangely lucK changes,” the count continued. “ Would 
you believe it, I had scarcely reached London before I met one of 
my friends, a member of the House of Lords, and of all the fash- 
ionable clubs. He took me with him to the Army and Navy Club 
that same evening, where I won two thousand guineas at whist. 
The next day , 1 did still better. Baccarat has not yet become a pop- 
ular game on the other side of the Channel, but I met a few ama- 
teurs, and 1 had an ample revenge for the injuries the cruel Pole 
indicted upon me in Paris. 1 return laden with gold. 

“ It was this good fortune that decided me to come here this even- 
ing,” added George, carelessly. ”1 owe my wife no further con- 
sideration, as she has returned to the stage — ” 

” With your permission, 1 suppose?” interrupted Moulieres. 

” Why should 1 oppose her return?” replied Listrac, evasively. 
'‘We no longer have anything in common, she and 1. 1 hope, 

however, that after her debut here — which seems to be a great suc- 
cess, by the way — she will have the good taste to confine her per- 
formances to foreign lands. In the meantime, 1 must adopt a new 
mode of life, and 1 propose to act henceforth, as if 1 had never been 
the husband of this prima-donna. Still, I v;ouId prefer that no one 
should see me in this box this evening. People might suppose that 
I had come merely to annoy the debutante, while my only object 
was to invite you to take supper with me after the performance. 1 
want to celebrate my late victory on the other side of the Channel 
with you.” 

” As you please,” replied Mme. de Benserade. 

‘‘ Hum! you do not appear very enthusiastic.” 

“You are very much mistaken. 1 am delighted to see you again.” 

“ One would not think so.” 

“ 1 cannot throw my arms around your neck in the presence of all 
these spectators.” 

“ 1 do not ask for any demonstrations of that kind. 1 only wish 
to be assured of your love. 1 will now give you time to recover from 
the astonishment my return must have caused you, for 1 stopped 
here on my way from the railway station, and a groom 1 brought 
with me from England is waiting for me in a carriage, with my 
trunks. 1 must go and tell him to procure apartments for me in 
the same house in which 1 had rooms before my departure, and in 
which 1 shall remain until 1 can find a house that suits me. i will 
see you again in a few moments.” 

As he spoke, Listrac rose and left the box without waiting for 
any reply from the baroness, who was not a little perplexed. 

Moulieres had heard none of this conversation, it having been car- 
ried on in very subdued tones, and he was anxious to ask Mme. de 
Benserade what she thought of this unexpected return; but he was 
not alone with her, so he contented himself with asking, in a whis- 
pered aside: 


Ill 


THE PEIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAND. 

** He is coming back, is he not?” 

Yes, in an instant.” 

1 should advise you not to wait for his return.” 

” Impossible! that would look as if 1 were afraid of him.” 

“ What difference does that make? He would understand that 
you did not care to renew your engagement to him.” 

” 1 have not decided to break it yet.” 

” Simply because you believe this story of fabulous gains within 
the past four days. 1 myself do not believe a word of it.” 

“If George had not won a great deal of mone}^ he would not 
have returned.” 

” But even admitting that he has, he will not keep it long,” re- 
plied Moulieres; ** and j^ou will make a great mistake if you re- 
new your relations with him.” 

Mine, de Benserade, instead of replying, turned and entered into 
an animated conversation with the other gentlemen. This conver- 
sation was soon interrupted, however, by the entrance of the count, 
who burst into the box like a madman, and threw himself into a 
chair beside the baroness. 

” What is the matter?” she asked, anxiously. 

” 1 have just been struck in the face by a scoundrel whom my 
wife doubtless stationed in the corriuor to insult me. 1 shall chal- 
lenge him. Moulieres, my dear fellow, will you do me the favor 
to call upon Monsieur Dartige for me to-morrow morning?” 

” A duel?” exclaimed Juliette. 

” Yes, a duel, and a duel to the death. Oh, no sentimental dem- 
onstrations, 1 beg! 1 have received a blow, and 1 have no inten- 
tion of swallowing the affront. If I am killed, you will soon forget 
me, and that will be the end of it all. It 1 kill my opponent, my 
wife will do all the mourning. Let us talk of something else.” 

” Listrac is right,” said Moulieres. ” This insult is too great to 
be overlooked, and 1 will cheerfully serve as his second.” 

In his secret heart Moulieres was jubilant, though he assumed the 
grave and anxious air suited to the occasion. Dartige would per- 
haps rid him of this Listrac, who could be of no further use to him, 
and who was even to be feared, as he seemed likely to regain pos- 
session of the baroness’ heart. 

She was silent, but one could see that she was deeply agitated. 
George had taken a seat in the front of the box, apparently forget- 
ting that his wife would soon reappear upon the stage, for the second 
act was just beginning. He surveyed the audience with eyes that 
flashed with anger. One would almost have thought that he took 
pleasure in thus displaying himself, and in braving the disapproval 
of this audience composed almost entirely of persons of his own 
rank in life. 

It was not until she knelt to receive the benediction of Friar 
Laurence that Clara saw him. Then their eyes met. There was a 
slight tremor in her voice, and that was all. 

Juliet does not appear in the next scene, and the act ended with- 
out any other incident of importance; but five minutes after the 
lowering of the curtain, some one rapped at the door of the box. 

Moulieres had only to reach out his arm to open it. He did so. 


113 THE PRIJIA donna’s HUSBAND. 

and was not surprised to find himself face to face with M. Chantal, 
He knew the object of his visit, and was entirely prepared for it. 

“ lam atyour service, sir,” said he, stepping out into the corridor. 

He was immediately followed by the Count de Listrac, and it 
was the latter who opened the conversation, 

“ Sir,” he began, “ 1 thank you for hastening the conference we 
must have togethtr, for 1 suppose you come on behalf of Monsieur 
Datige?” 

Receiving a bow by way of response, he continued: 

“.Monsieur Dartige has insulted me so grossly that be must sub- 
mit to my conditions, which are as follows: We will fight to- 
morrow, with pistols, at twenty paces, with the privilege of advanc- 
ing five paces after the first fire, and then continue firing until one 
of us is hors de combat. As to the time and place of the meeting, 
you can confer with my second, here; my only stipulation being 
that the duel shall take place before noon.” 

“ That is the same desire my friend expressed,” replied Chautal, 
“ and if your second will drop in at the club after the opera, he will 
find Monsieur Dartige there. 

“1 will go there immediately after the performance,” said 
Moulieres. 

“1 shall count upon seeing you there. Good-evening,” said 
Chantal, turning on his heel. 

Listrac made no attempt to detain him, but whispered to his 
companion, as he turned to re-enter the box, 

“ Not a word to Madame de Benserade.” 

“Of course 1 shall not tell her that the duel is to come oft to- 
morrow, but 1 fear she already suspects it.” 

“ 1 will reassure her, and as i may not have another opportunity 
to speak to you on the subject, 1 will be at your rooms to-morrow 
at nine o’clock precisely, in fighting trim, and then there will be 
nothing left for us to do but to take a carriage and repair to the 
dueling ground.” 

“ As you please.” 

On re-entering the box, they found the lady very calm. She did 
not appear to suspect that they had just decided upon fighiing in 
the morning, and Listrac had no difficulty in explaining his short 
absence. 

“ It was only a friend 'who had caught sight of me and wished 
to congratulate me upon my return.” 

Mme. de Benserade asked no further questions; besides, the act 
was beginning, and there was no more time 1o talk. Clara Monti 
was singing with Romeo: Nuit d'hymenee, 6 douce nuit d* amour ^ 
and never had her acting been more spirited. Her voice did not 
tremble, and her eyes never once turned to the box in which the 
count had resumed his former seal. 

Emboldened b}'’ the apparent indifterence of his victim, he made 
no further attempt to conceal himself, but frequently leaned over 
to whisper to the baroness, who had audaciously lowered the screen 
she had kept raised during the preceding act. This was the state 
of aftairs when Clara Monti took llie vial from the friar’s hands; 
and, before raising it to her lips, after the monk asked: “ Do you 


THE PKIMA DONHA's HUSBAND. 113 

hesitate?” she ^ave Listiac a look, a single look that made him 
cower. 

Then she drank. 

“ One would think she was drinking to your health, ” sneered 
Mme. de Benserade, who had noticed the glance. 

Moulieres trowned, for he thought it most unseemly for her to 
jest in this way. Listrac did not reply to the ill-timed pleasantry, 
and an oppressive silence reigned in the box. 

Almosi immediately, the scene changes, and Juliet reappears, foD 
lowed by the wedding guests. A great change was apparent in 
her expression, and her pallor was frightful. Listrac instinctively 
felt that she was wounded to the heart. 

The scene that precedes the swoon is short, and Clara soon fell, 
apparently lifeless, into the arms of one of her relatives. A thrill 
ran through the audience, and the curtain fell to the sound of 
voices vehemently recalling the great cantatrice. 

“ Her acting is even better than her singing,” exclaimed the bar- 
oness, moved with involuntary admiration. “ The fact is, she dies 
to perfection. One would almost be willing to swear that it was 
the real thing.” 

Then, drawing a little closer to George, she whispered: 

“ And it it were, 1 could marry you.” 

Moulieres heard the remark, and bit his lips. 

“ We will soon see that the diva is alivel” he muttered. “ The 
audience is so frantic with enthusiasm that she will be obliged to 
reappear.” 

IStill, the curtain did not rise, though the storm of applause burst 
forth again and again. This delay only made the audience stilt 
more persistent, however. 

The curtain did rise at last, but instead of luliet, led by 
Romeo, the excited audience beheld only a gentleman dressed in 
black. He wore a white cravat, and his face was as white as his 
cravat. 

“An announcement!” murmured Mme. de Benserade. “Clara 
Monti has probably sent him to tell us that she is too tired to show 
herself. She thinks it would be beneath her dignity to return to 
pick up the flowers that would be showered upon her.” 

“ Will you be quiet?” said Listrac, almosi rudely. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” began the stage-director, in a voice that 
trembled perceptibly. 

“ Monti! Monti!” interrupted several of the more obstinate. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, 1 am grieved to announce that the great 
artiste whom you have just applauded—” 

The worthy man paused. He was so deeply agitated that he had 
been on the point of adding; for the last time, but the frantic 
presario had forbidden him to disclose tjie whole truth, so he stam- 
meriiigly resumed: 

“ Madame Clara Monti has just met with an accident — ” 

Exclamations of regret resounded on all sides. 

“An accident which will undoubtedly prove very serious in its 
consequences. She is unable to reappear before you, and the man- 
ager finds himself under the painful necessity of stopping the per- 
formance.” 


114 THE PRIM A donna’s HUSBAND. 

“Oh!” cried a few spectators, mindful of their money, only a 
few, however. 

“ The management respectfully request the audience to retire, 
and will make to-morrow such arrangements as may be necessitated 
by this deplorable event.” 

There was general consternation. No one thought of finding 
fault, though many would have been glad to ask an explanation. 
But it was too late. The curtain had fallen. 

” 1 can’t imagine what this means,” murmured the baroness. 

“Nor can 1,”. replied Moulieres, “but 1 think we had better 
leave immediately, it we wish to escape the crowd.” 

Listrac offered his arm to M me. de Benserade, who scarcely took 
time to wrap her fur-lined cloak around her. 

They reached the outer door without much difficulty, though not 
without hearing some rather disagreeable remarks— and lost no lime 
in summoning the lady’s coupe which was in waiting on the quai. 
The baroness and her escort went in search of it themselves after 
taking a hasty leave of Moulieres, who whispered: 

“ I shall be ready and waiting to-morrow, at nine o’clock.” 

That gentleman lingered awhile, in the hope of learning the nat- 
ure of the accident which had befallen the prima-donna; but there 
was such a terrible crowd that no one seemed inclined to stop to 
talk; besides, they knew no more about the event that had inter- 
rupted tlie performance thah Moulieres did, so he finally took a car- 
riage, and ordered the coachman to drive him to the club, wheie ho 
seated himself on a sofa directly opposite the door of the principal 
salon, where he could not fail to see M. Chantal when he came in. 

About a quarter of an hour afterwaid Dartige’s friend appeared. 
He saw Moulieres, who rose and advanced to meet him, but instead 
of entering into conversation with him upon the subject that had 
brought them to the club, he said coldly: 

“We can decide nothing without Monsieur Dariige, and he will 
probably be detained at the theater. But he will not fail to come. 
1 shall wait for him, and you had better do the sarne.” 

Whereupon, Chantal turned upon his heel, and walked Into the 
next room, without paying any further attention to M. de Listrac’s 
second. 

Smarting under this rebuff, Moulieres returned to his seat, where 
be remained alone and unnoticed. He was evidently in high dis- 
favor, for the members of the club who were now dropping in, one 
after another, pretended not to see him, or passed him without the 
slightest sign of recognition. 

He was not deprived of the satisfaction of listening, however, for 
groups of new-comers were beginning to form around the fire-place, 
and a lively discussion was going on. 

In such a company, the affair at the Thetoe-Lyrique v; as not 
likely to escape comment. The first comers stated only what 
Moulieres already knew; but they did not hesitate to declare that 
the conduct of the Count de Listrac was outrageous, though they 
had not the slightest suspicion that it had been the cause of the ac- 
cident which had interrupted the performance, and there was strong 
talk of calling a meeting of the directors for the purpose of expelling 
Listrac from the club. 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


115 


Aloulieres did not venture to interfere, but clDsina his eyes, 
assumed the attitude of one who sleeps to the monotonous hum of 
conversation in which he takes no interest. No one thought of 
troubling his slumber, for though nothing had been said upon the 
subject, all were tacitly resolved to snub the friend and supposed 
champion of the diva’s husband. 

He had been tolerated, and even made much of for several years, 
merely because he was good company, but suddenly, every one had 
come to the conclusion that the man was an adventurer. 

A single unfortunate step had sufficed to precipitate him into the 
lowest depths of obloquy, for so things go in Paris, in the circles 
where one amuses one’s self. 

The talkers finally dispersed, some wending their way to the bac- 
carat-room, others to the restaurant to finish the night there. 

Moulieres was left entirely alone, and finally fell asleep in good 
earnest, in spite of his anxiety. Even the great Conde slept on the 
eve of the battle of Rocroy, it is said. Chantal did. not fall asleep, 
however. He could not keep still, but wandered restlessly about, 
from room to room, and finally out into the hall, through which 
every one who entered the club-house must pass: but he saw noth- 
ing of Dariige. 

He certainly could not have forgotten the appointment, and how- 
ever dangerously ill Mine, de Listrac might be, Dartige would not 
be detained at her house all night. What, then, could detain him? 
Chantal tried in vain to conjecture, without once suspecting the sad 
truth. 

By two o’clock in the morning, the last remnant of patience had 
deserted him, and he was about to leave the club-house, when Dar- 
tige appeared at the end of the hall which his friend had been pac- 
ing feverishly for nearly three hours. 

“ Weil?” asked Chantal. 

” Dead!” replied Dartige, gloomily. 

” What! dead? One does not die from a fainting fit.” 

” She poisoned herself.” 

‘‘ Good heavens! with what?” 

“With some poison which she carried in a ring, and which was 
almost instantaneous in its effect. She died on the stage.” 

“ My poor friend! what a position for you! What did you do?” 

“ 1 have had the body placed in the manager’s private office. 
They would have refused to receive it in the house where she was 
living. It will remain there until the day of burial. The theater 
will be closed after this catastrophe, and the manager counts upon 
making a sensation by reopening it for the funeral of the Countess 
de Listrac.” 

“ All Paris will attend it. It will be the talk of the town. But 
are you sure that she did it intentionally?” 

“ She wrote me a letter explaining the cause of her resolve before 
poisoning herself. It was not necessary, however, for 1 knew.” 

“ It was the sight of her husband that killed her, was it not?” 

“ As certainly as if he had stabbed her to the heart. The wretch 
murdered her.” 

“ Then the duel will not take place. A gentleman does not fight 
with an assassin.” 


116 


THE PRIMA DONNA'S HUSBAND. 


“ 1 shall fight with him, however. I have sworn to avenge Clara 
Monti. 1 must and shall kill him. ” 

“ Unless he kills you.” 

” No, God will protect me. To-morrow morning 1 shall rid the 
earlh of this scouhdiel, and to-morrow evening 1 shall leave for 
Italy with my wife.” 

“ The young Italian! You persist in marrying her then?” 

“ 1 love her, and in marrying her 1 shall fulfill the last wish of 
the noble woman who has just sacrificed her life to a misplaced 
love. In her letter, she intrusted Andrea to my care, and bequeathed 
to her all she possessed. 1 shall refuse the money, but her other 
wishes shall be scrupulously obeyed.” 

“Well, you are right,” said Chantal, deeply moved, “and 1 
sw'ear that if you should be unfortunate to-morrow, the woman you 
love shall stili have a friend. Where did you leave her?” 

“ She is watching over the dead body of Clara Monti. 1 shall not 
see her again until after the duel.” 

“ Does she know that you are going to fight?” 

“ 1 took good care not to tell her, but she may suspect it — she is 
wonderfully clear-sighted — so 1 want to have it over as soon as pos- 
sible.” 

“ There is nothing to preveni it, Listrac’s second is here now.” 

“ Moulieres, I suppose, you mean?” 

“Yes. 1 would much rather have nothing to do with such a 
rascal, but Listrac, 1 am sure, could find no one else to assist him, 
and 1 think he has given him full authority to act for him. We 
can make all the necessary arrangements to-night.” 

“ 1 am glad of it. So far as 1 am concerned, 1 too give you carte 
hlanclie.*^ 

“ The interview need not be a lengthy one, as 1 already know Lis- 
trac’s conditions — pistols, at twenty paces, with the privilege of ad- 
vancing five paces, and firing until death or a serious wound en- 
sues.” 

“ That suits me.” 

“ Then wait tor me here. It is not necessary for you to have any- 
thing to say to Moulieres. 1 will be back in ten minutes.” 

Chantal entered the saloa just as Moulieres, who had woke only a 
moment before, was starting out in search of him. 

“ 1 have just seen Dartige,” said Chantal. “ He accepts Mon- 
sieur de Listrac/s conditions, and thinks we can dispense with othei 
seconds. Consequently there is nothing for us to do but decide 
upon the time and place.” 

“ Monsieur de Listrac will be at my rooms to-morrow morning at 
nine o’clock. The duel had better take place at eleven o’clock, on 
the shores of the lake at Y’ille d’Avray. 1 know a suitable place in 
the forest near there.” 

“ Agreed. Will you bring your pistols? 1 will bring mine. We 
can draw lots for them on the ground.” 

“ Very well. May I venture to inquire, sir, it the illness of the 
countess is very serious in its nature?” 

Chantal hesitated an instant, then looking the questioner lull in 
the face, replied: 


THE PRIMA donna's HUSBAND. 117 

“ The Countess de Listrac is dead, and 1 trust that to-morrow her 
death will be avenged.” 

And turning abruptly away he rejoined Dartige. 

” I too hope so,” muttered Moulieres. ” Aou may rest assured 
that 1 shall do nothing to defer the duel. 1 do not want the baroness 
to have time to learn that Listrac is a widower.” 


CHAPTER IN. 

Andrea, had not given way alter the catastrophe. She had in- 
dulged in no hysterics, and had wept but little. Deep grief is al- 
W'ays silent. But she had absolutely refused to leave Clara Monti’s 
body, and the next morning it was necessary for the manager to ex- 
ert his authority to compel her to go home and take a little rest. 

On leaving her some time after midnight, Dartige had made her 
promise to return to the house on the Quai Voltaire, about nine 
o’clock the following morning, and there await his coming. 

His only object in doing this had been to insure her the rest she 
so much needed, for he intended to devote his morning to killing 
M. de Listrac, and not to see his betrothed again until after the 
duel. All his preparations had been made, and a farewell letter 
written, which, with Claia Monti’s will, was to be given to Andrea, 
by his second, in case of his death. 

After the interview with Moulieres, Chantal and Dartige had held 
a long conference, and Chantal knew what be must do tor Audrea 
in the event of his friend’s demise. In short, he was to see that 
Mme. de Listrac’s will was duly executed, and make the necessary 
arrangements for the orphan’s return to Italy. 

At the same time they made the final arrangements for the duel. 
The easiest way to reach the spot selected for the meeting was to 
take the train that leaves the ISaiut Lazare station at half-past ten 
o’clock, and the two friends had agreed to meet in the waiting-room 
of the depot at quarter past ten. 

Dartige, who bad not slept at all, having spent the few remain- 
ing hours of the night in waiting, sent his valet out about half-past 
nine for a carriage, and a few minutes afterward started down-stairs 
on his way to the station. 

He was greatly surprised, and even more greatly annoyed to meet 
Andrea on the staircase. 

“You here,” he exclaimed. “ 1 asked you to wail at home for 
me.” 

“ That is true,” replied the young girl, “but 1 could not stay 
there. 1 was impatient to see you. so I came here. Have 1 done 
wrong?” 

“No, certainly not. Only 1 am obliged to go out now. An un- 
foreseen business matter compels me to leave the city, and will re- 
quire my attention all the rest of the morning.” 

“ A business matter at a time like this?” 

“ ITes, it is absolutely necessary for me to see Ma flame de Lis- 
trac’s notary, and he is at his country residence on the Versailles 
railroad.” 

The pretext was a very poor one, but Dartige, in his surprise and 
agitation, could invent no belter one. 


118 THE PRTMA HUSBAJ^TD. 

“ Is it far from Here?” asked Andrea. 

'* Far enough for me to be obliged to go by rail. The carriage 
you saw at the door is to take me lo the station.” 

” Will you allow me to drive there with you. The same carriajre 
can take me home again afterward. 1 can at least be with you for 
a little while, and since godmother died 1 really have not courage to 
remain alone.” 

Dartijre was on the point of refusing, but what excuse could he 
give tor this refusal? Andrea, who was so soon to be his wife, cer- 
tainly had a right to accompany him to the station, and it he should 
send her away without any explanation, she would be almost cer- 
tain to suspect the truth. Would it not be better to try lo deceive 
her by acceding to her request? Besides, Dartige knew that this 
duel might prove fatal to him. Why then should he deprive him- 
self of the happiness of spending a few moments with the woman 
whom he aiiored, and whom he would perhaps never see again.” 

“ 1 wish you could be with me always,” he said, finally. ‘‘ But 
this notary would be surprised to see you.” 

” Oh, it would not be necessary for him to see me. I might wait 
for you at the station to which you are going.” 

‘‘"That would be impossible. 1 am going to Yille d’Avray, and 
Monsieur Jouin’s villa is a long way from the station. We must 
separate at Saint Lazare.” 

‘‘ As you think best,” replied the girl, without betraying the 
slightest suspicion. 

Nevertheless, the name of the station to which Dartige was going 
was indelibly engraved upon her memory. 

The drive from the Rue de Bourgogne to the Place du Havre was 
gloomy and almost silent. Dartige vainly endeavored to find a topic 
of conversation that would conceal the emotion excited by the 
thought that his unworthy antagonist’s bullet might bring his 
dreams of future happiness lo an abrupt termination: and Andrea 
became more and more deeply absorbed in gloomy reflections. 

They had not exchanged a dozen sentences when the cariiage 
drew up at the foot of the broad steps leading to the waiting-room. 

Chantal was waiting for his friend on the topmost step, and M. 
de Listrac, accompanied by his second, was just passing through 
the covered gallery that borders one side of the court -yard. 

Andrea recognized him instantly, and the meaning of his pres- 
ence there instantly flashed across her mind. Almost any other 
woman would have treated Dartige to a scene, but she only said, 
quietly: 

“ May God preserve you!” 

Dartige was anxious to have the parting over as soon as possible, 
so he kissed the hand Andrea extended, leaped from the carriage, 
and paid the driver, first giving him the number of tbe house on 
the Quai Voltaire, however. 

The coachman immediately drove off, for carriages are not al- 
lowed to stand there over a certain length of time, and Dartige did 
not look round to see if the vehicle stopped again before it left the 
court yard, but ran hastily up the steps to join Chantal, who said 
by way of greeting: 

‘‘You and your adversary make your appearance at the same mo- 


THE PEIMA DONHA’s HUSBAND. 


119 


ment. He seems to prefer to travel by rail as well as ourselves. 

I sun, that is no reason why we should be shut up in the same com- 
partment.” 

' “ Certainly not. 1 hope 1 shall not be obliged to bow to him 

until we meet on the dueling-ground.” 

I “So do 1. The only trouble is that the place selected is a long 
way from the station. We shall have to hurry out as soon as the 
train stops if we want to secure a carriage. They are rare there, 

I and wa must try to be the first to engage one.” 

“ We will. Have you the pistols?” 

“ Yes, some brand new ones. 1 purchased them this morning 
with the box you see in my hand. Now I will go and buy the 
tickets — first-class ones — but not to go and return— that would 
bring us bad luck.” 

Listrac and Moulieres entered the waiting-room a few moments 
afterward, but seeing Chautal in the long procession already 
formed in front of the ticket office, they waited until the tram 
was nearly ready to start, and Chantal and Dartige had gone out 
before they went up to purcnase thejr tickets, which they did 
without noticing a veiled lady, dressed in black, who seemed to 
govern her movements by theirs. 

“We had better have driven out to Ville d’Avray,” remarked 
Moulieres. “ It would have spared us the annoyance of being 
obliged to travel in the same train with these gentlemen.” 

“ I did not think of it,” replied Listrac, “ but we will find means 
to secure a different compartment.” 

“ Moreover, to get there in time we should have been obliged to 
start at a very early hour,” remarked Moulieres, “ and you reached 
my rooms scarcely twenty minutes ago. Confess that it was the 
baroness who caused you to so nearly miss your appointment.” 

“ Yes. She was trying to pick a quarrel with me.” 

“ About what?” 

“ She pretends that she is jealous of my wife.” 

“ I should think she need feel no apprehensions on that score after 
your conduct last evening. Everybody at the club was talking 
about it.” 

“ And they blamed me, 1 suppose?” 

“Yes. 1 must admit it.” 

“ Well, 1 can’t say that 1 care very much. 1 have about made 
up my mind to leave Paris. In fact, I shall probably be compelled 
to do so, for if 1 should kill Dartige, there will be an investigation; 
and 1 shall certainly kill him, for 1 am a dead-shot, as you know.” 

“ Y'es, 1 have seen you hit the bull’s-eye three times out of four; 
but in a duel it is very different.” 

“ Do you think 1 am afraid?” 

“ No, but it seems to me that you are a trifle nervous this morn- 
ing.” 

“lam a trifle annoyed, but all that will soon pass off. Have you 
heard anything from the diva? What did they say about the inter- 
rupted performance at the club?” 

“ Nothing that jmu have not heard already; but 1 presume Mon- 
sieur Dartige is better informed.” 


120 


THE PIIIMA HONi^A’s HUSBAND. 


“ 1 certainly shall not apply to him for intormalion/' replied Lis- 
trac, curtly. “ Let us aboard. Jt is time for the train to start.' 

“ He has heard nothing, and 1 am glad of it," thought Moulieres. 

They passed through the gate, and the veiled lady followed them. 

Convinced that Dartige intended to tight, Andrea had resolved to 
witness the combat, and not to survive her betrothed, if he fell. 
The idea of preventing the duel never once occurred to her; besides, 
she firmly believed that divine iustice would avenge Clara Monti’s 
dealh. 

Following Listrac and his second into the compartment they 
selected, she seated herself beside the former, in the hope that their 
conversation would indicate how she couJd follow them without at- 
tracting their attention, after they reached Yille d’Avray. 

M. de Listrac did not seem to be aware of her presence. From 
time to time, he addressed a few words to Moulieres who answered 
him rather briefly, but their conversation was confined to the most 
trivial topics. It was not until the trairi had passed Suresnes that 
the count remarked to his second: 

“You were in Florence about fifteen years ago, were you not? 
Yes? Then you must have heard of the death of an Italian artist, 
named Vitellio." 

“ Certainly. He came to an untimely end. He was t o great a 
favorite witli the ladies." 

‘‘ Then you think he was killed by a rival?" 

" 1 am almost certain of it. Such cases are of frequent occurrence 
in that country." 

‘‘ Did any one know this ritual’s name?" 

" Rumor said that he was a Frenchman, but no oiie was sure of 
it. 1 think, however, that very little attempt was made to discover 
the murderer." 

" Do you know what became of this Vitellio’s daughter?" 

" Your opponent can tell you all you want to know about her. 
He is going to marry her, 1 iiear." 

‘‘ If his life is spared," said Listrac, with a sardonic smile. 

Just then, the train passed through the tunnel under the park at 
Saint Cloud, and the conversation necessarily ceased. 

Andrea had not missed a single word of it, and a terrible suspicion 
flashed through her mind. She had heard it said that her father 
had been assassinated by a Frenchman, and she asked herself if this 
Frenchman was not the man sitting opposite her. Her grandmother, 
before her departure for Paris, had shown her a letter which Vitale 
Yitellio had received a few hours before his death, an anonymous 
letter written in French, by a person who requested the artist to 
meet him at midnight on the Quai de I’Arno, and this person was 
undoubtedly the assassin. 

" Perhaps we shall never meet again," her grandmother had said 
to her; "I am old, and 1 may not live until your return. Keep 
this proof of the trap that a scoundrel set for your father, and make 
use of it, it possible, to bring the wretch to justice, if you should 
ever be brought in contact with him. ’ 

Andrea always carried this important letter upon her person, but 
this was no time to demund a comparison of handwritings; she re- 


THE PlilMA DOi^is-A's HUSBAXD. 121 

solved to consult Dartige after the duel, however, and to beg hina 
to aid her in the discovery ot her father s murderer 

The train stopped again, a tew moments afterward, and the two 
accomplices hastily left the oar. 

Andrea allowed them to pass her, and did not alight herself until 
Dartige and Chantal, who had traveled in another car, had ascended 
the staircase leading to the supension bridge over which passengers 
from Paris are obliged to pass. 

An omnibus and five or six carriages were standing outside the 
depot. The new arrivals were not very numerous, and they all 
directed their steps toward the omnibus; at least, all except the four 
gentlemen, who had already driven oft, in two shabby op^n carriages. 

Andrea saw an old coupe standing near by. and walking up to 
it, she said to the coachman : 

“ Can your horse keep up with those carriages? 

He can pass them, if you like, my little lady,” replied the man. 
“ Those gentlemen seem to be going to take breakfast at Father 
Cabassut’s inn, and we can reach there before they do if you wish.” 

‘‘ That is not what 1 want,” replied Andrea, hastily. ” We are 
only to follow them, without trying to overtake them, and to stop 
when they stop.” 

” 1 understand, my little lady. Jump in. They are some distance 
ahead of us now; but 1 have an idea that we sha’u’t be obliged to go 
very far.” 

The coachman was right. The lake is only about ten minutes* 
drive from the railway station, and as the narrow road leading to it 
winds along through the forest, there was nothing to interfere with 
Andrea’s plan. The shrewd coachman finally paused before pass- 
ing the coiner ot a high wall that surrounded an immense park, 
jumped down from the box, opened the door, and asked : 

” It is a duel that you want to prevent, is it not?” 

Andrea attempted to deny it, but he replied, laughing: 

” Oh, 1 know. They have their pistols, aud this is not the first 
time Parisians have come out here to fight. Don’t be afraid, they 
are not likely to do each other much damage, and they will prob- 
ably wind up the affair by breakfasting together at h’ather Cabas- 
silt’s. 

‘‘ Besides, it you are anxious to reconcile them before they can 
possibly do each other any injury, 1 will tell you how you can join 
them just at the right moment. 1 know where they are going, for 
there is only one good place for such a meeting, and that is at the 
other end of the pond. If they take the road to the left, you take 
the one to the right, and you will reach the clearing as soon as they 
do, and can pounce down upon them just as they are going to fire. 

” Still, an easier and, perhaps, surer w^ay would be to summon 
the gendarmes. The barracks are not far from here, and if you 
wish—” 

‘‘ No, no, that is not necessary. Wait for me here, so you can 
take me back to the station. Here are twenty francs for your 
trouble.” 

“Thank you, my little lady. If you’ll pay me at that rate I’ll 
wait for you all day.” 

Andrea hastened on. As soon as she passed the corner of the 


122 


THE PRIMA DOHHA'S HUSBAKD. 


wall, she saw the two carriages standing near the edge of the pond 
whose waters sparkled brightly in the March sunlight. 

The vehicles were empt}^ however, and the two coachmen stood 
chatting sociably as they smoked their pipes. 

After passing the carriages, she caught a glimpse of the tour gen- 
tlemen who had taken the path to the left. Andrea, actjordingly, 
turned to the right, passing the garden of a restaurant where the 
combatants might, indeed, have breakfasted, had the aftair been 
less set ions. 

The spot to which Moulieres conducted the party was certainly 
admirabl}^ adopted to duelling purposes. It was a long, narrow 
clearing, surrounded on every side by trees and underbrush, suffi- 
ciently tall to screen it effectually from the eyes of any one who might 
be passing along the public road. 

The ground which was covered with a thick carpet of turf, was 
perfectly level and unbroken by either tree or shrub. Listrac and 
Moulieres, being the first to arrive, quietly awaited the approach of 
the others. Cold bows were interchanged, and then the two princi- 
pals walked a short distance away, leaving the two seconds to make 
the final arrangements. 

“ Here are the pistols 1 purchased, began Chantal, opening the 
case. “ Will you satisfy yourself that they have never been used, 
and show me yours.” 

“ They are exactly like yours,” replied Moulieres, producing 
them. “ 1 purchased them at the same shop yours came from, and 
only about a quarter of an hour afterward, they told me. You can 
see that they are perfectly new. 1 think it would be best for us to 
load both pairs.” 

“ What do you mean?” 

” As it is decided that the gentlemen will not be limited to a shot 
a piece, we had better load all four pistols. You can load mine, 
and I will load yours, and then each gentleman can choose his 
weapon from under a handkerchief.” 

” That arrangement is perfectly satisfactory to me. It is agreed 
that the combatants are to be stationed twenty paces apart, is it 
not?” 

With the privilege of advancing five paces each.” 

” Which would reduce the distance to ten paces. I refuse to con- 
sent to this arrangement.” 

” Monsieur Darlige has consented to it.” 

” He is at perfect liberty to do so, of course, if he chooses, but 1 
will not act as second in a duel which would be nothing more nor 
less than a cold-blooded murder.” 

” And 1 will not consent to a duel where the firing is to be done 
at the word of command,” interposed Listrac, for the principals 
had not gone out of hearing distance. ” Under such circumstances, 
one almost invariably misses, and heaven only knows how often it 
is necessary to begin again. 1 did not come here to waste powder, 
and as 1 am the aggrieved party, i have a right to insist that the 
firing shall be done at will.” 

“ As you please,” said Dartige promptly. 

‘‘ So be it,” said Chantal. “These gentlemen are to fire when they 
please, but they are to be stationed thirty paces apart, with theprivi- 


123 


THE PRIMA DOKHA’S HUSBAND. 

lege of advancing to within twenty paces of each other. That is the 
only concession 1 will make.'' 

“ 1 am content with that," replied Listrac, " hut let us have the 
aftair over as soon as possible." 

Chantal glanced inquiringly at his friend, who ratified the 
arrangement by a nod of acquiescence, whereupon the principals 
proceeded to load the pistols, after which they were laid on the 
ground and covered with Mouliere’s pocket-handkerchief. 

The next thing to be done was to measure oft the distance, and 
Chantal was careful to take long steps in order to lessen the danger 
as much as possible. 

During these preparations the two principals stood perfectly 
motionless, a few feel from each other, without exchanging a word 
or a look. 

When the task was ended, the seconds rejoined them, and Chantal 
said : 

" We are ready, gentlemen. You can now choose your pistols, 
first removing your overcoats, of course." 

Darlige removed his immediately, and threw it on the grass, but 
Listrac asked, rather curtly: 

“ What is the use of that ceremony, pray?" 

It is merely the custom, just as it is customary to fight in one's 
shirt sleeves wnen the sword is the weapon selected. A heavy over- 
coat serves as a sort of cuirass; and more than once the life of a 
combatant has been saved by the thickness of his clothing. Be- 
sides, you see that your opponent has not made the slightest objec- 
tion lo removing his." 

" Very well. Here goes mine," said Listrac, throwing his over* 
coat on the grass beside that of Dartige. ‘‘ Is that all?" 

"No," replied Chantal coldly. "There seems to be a rather 
bulky article in the breast-pocket of your other coat." 

"it is my pocket-book. 'Are you going to require me to lay 
that aside, also?" 

" Yes, certainly. The code is explicit on this subject. A com- 
batant must retain upon his person no pocket-book, newspapers, 
documents, or coins; in short, nothing that could arrest the prog- 
ress of a bullet. 

" Your opponent has complied with this rule. Your second can 
satisfy himself that he has not even a watch in his pockeL" 

Listrac drew a plethoric wallet from his coat- pocket, and threw 
it down beside his overcoat. A pocket-book that he took from his 
trousers pocket quickly followed it ; then he turned to Chantal and 
said, dryly: 

" That is all, 1 think." 

" Yes, sir. Now will you choose one of the pistols under this 
handkerchief. 

" It is now your turn, Dartige," continued Chantal, when M. de 
Listrac had selected his weapon, 

Dartige chose his, after which, each of the two seconds took one 
of the two remaining pistols. 

" Shall 1 give the signal?" asked Chantal. 

"Yes," replied Listrac and Moiilieres in the same breath. 

Then 1 warn you that 1 shall not say ‘ One, two, three,' as4. 


124 


THE PKIMA DOKXA S HUSBAHD. 


should do if you were to fire at the word of command. 1 shall sim- 
ply say, ‘ Fire at will.’ And as soon as 1 have uttered the words, 
each of you will have a right to fire at your pleasure.” 

” That is understood,” interrupted Listrac. ‘‘Kow let us take 
our places.” 

” One last remark, gentlemen. Should death or a serious wound 
ensue, the combat will necessarily cease; and afterwara each side 
must look out tor itself. Monsieur de Moulieres will give his atten- 
tion to Monsieur de Listrac, and 1 shall devote mine to my friend. 
This is not a duel which is likely to end in a reconciliation, so the 
survivor will leave with his second, without troubling himself about 
his dead or wounded opponent.” 

‘‘You seem to think of everything, sir,” said the count, ironic- 
ally. 

” 1 think that we ought to have brought a physician!” exclaimed 
Moulieres. 

” If one should be needed, he can be found in Yille d’Avray,” 
replied Chantal. ” We must also pledge ourselves not to disclose 
the cause of this duel in case of an investigation.” 

“It will become known whether we disclose it or not,” replied 
Moulieres. 

** Why? There was no one in the corridor when Monsieur de 
Listrac was struck, hlo one knows that the gentlemen intend to 
fight this morning, and no one need ever know it, for there is noth- 
ing to prevent — ” 

” 1 understand,” interrupted Listrac. ” Your friend expects to 
kill me ; and he would like to keep the matter a secret in order that 
he may be able to marry my widow without creating a scandal.” 

” Cease this most unseemly jesting. Do you pretend to be igno- 
rant that Clara Monti, Countess de Listrac, is dead? Such an ex- 
hibition of heaitlessness is unpardonable, even indecent. Will you 
take your place?” 

As he spoke, Chantal slipped his arm through that of Dartige, 
and led him away. As Moulieres, in his turn, escorted Listrac to 
his place, the latter said to him: 

‘‘ Is it true that my wife is dead?” 

“Alas! yes. She died on the stage last evening. 1 thought it 
beat to conceal the fact from you.” 

“ You did very wrong I am free now, and 1 never before felt 
such a strong desiie to live. 1 am goine to aim carefully, and 1 
shall kill my man at the first shot.” 

Chantal looked at the two opponents closely, to assure himself 
that all the regulations of the dueling code had been scrupulously 
complied with. 

They had both assumed the prescribed attitude— the right shoul- 
der to the front, the barrel of the pistol pointed toward the ground, 
and their heads proudly erect as befitted men insensible to fear. 

“ Are you ready?” asked Chantal. 

A clear ringing “Yes,” uttered in the same breath by each of the 
opponents, answered him. 

Be allowed a few seconds to pass, then exclaimed: 

“ Fire at will.” 

"The weapons were raised at the same instant; but Dartige did not 


j THE PRIMA donna's HUSBAND, 125 

move, while Listrac, with his pistol leveled at his opponent, ad- 
vanced rapidly to the line. 

' He had an undoubted right to do so; and Chantal turned pale, 
i for. at such a short distance, the first shot would almost necessarily 
prove fatal. 

I A shot was fired, but only one. It was fired by Dartige, and it 
I was very evident that his antagonist was wounded, for his pistol 
arm suddenly dropped at his side. 

I Dartige resumed his former attitude, and waited. 

M. de Listrac tottered, and fell upon his knees. 

Moulieres sprung fortvard to raise him; but the wounded man 
cried, hoarsely: 

“ Back to your place! 1 wish to fire. It is my turn.” 

No one could contest the right he claimed, to return shot for shot; 
but Chantal ventured to hope that he would not have strength to 
avail himself ot it. 

A frightful grimace contorted his livid face; but he nevertheless 
had strength to raise his arm and to aim at Dartige, who had not 
moved a muscle; but his hand trembled, and he delayed so long, 
that Chantal, finding the suspense intolerable, cried: 

‘‘ Fire, for God’s sake, fire, if you are going to!” 

He pulled the trigger; but even as he did so, he sunk unconscious 
upon the turf, exhausted by this final effort. 

The bullet missed Dartige, but a cry of pain resounded from the 
underbrush, a few feet behind him, a cry which he heard distinctly, 
though it escaped the ears of Chantal, who was standing a little fur- 
ther oft. 

Moulieres hastened to the assistance of the count, who gave no 
further signs of life; and Chantal, in accordance with the agreement 
made before the duel began, hastily turned to rejoin his friend. But 
even as he did so, to his very great surprise, he saw Dartige throw 
away his pistol and rush into the woods. He followed him and 
found him supporting Andrea, who had been wounded in the left 
arm by Listrac’s bullet. 

‘‘It is nothing!” she murmured. ”I would gladly have given 
my life to save you, and 1 deem myself fortunate to have been 
wounded by the hand ot my godmother’s murderer.” 

Dartige, speechless with emotion, clasped her in his arms, and 
tried to stanch, with his handkerchief, the slowly dripping blood, 
for the bullet had passed through the flesh without shattering any 
bone or cutting an artery. 

” There is no fracture, nor is there any hemorrhage to be feared,” 
said Chantal, examining the wound. ‘‘ Mademoiselle is right. It 
is a mere scratch. She can return to Paris with us with perfect 
safety. 

Chantal did not need to be told that this w as his friend’s affianced, 
for he had witnessed the parting at the railway station, though he 
had made no allusion to it. 

‘‘ A re you suffering?” he inquired. 

‘‘Not any to speak of,” replied Andrea cheerfully. ‘‘ I felt, for 
an instant, as it some one had struck me a sharp blow, and the 
shock stunned me; but 1 feel now only a dull throbbing, and I can 
walk without the slightest difficulty.” 


126 


THE PRIMA DOis^KA’s HUSBAJ^D. 


Then, looking:: searcliingly at Chantal, she asked: 

“ He is dead, is he not?” 

“ I think so; but 1 am going to make sure. 1 have nothing to 
do with him, still 1 must have a talk with his second, for the authori- 
ties must be intormed of the affair. Dartigo will accompany you 
to the carriage that is waiting for us at the other end of the lake. 1 
will soon join you there; and we can then decide what course is 
best tor us to pursue. 

Dartige gladly obeyed this suggestion, for he was anxious to get 
Andrea away as soon as possible, in order to prevent her from be- 
coming mixed up in this most unfortunate affair. 

Ohantal hastened back to the scene of the conflict, expecting to 
find Moulieres there. Indeed, he was surprised that Moulieres had 
not come in search of him before this time. 

“ fle can have very little curiosity,*’ he said to himself, “ for we 
took to our heels as if we were going to run away; and yet he must 
have heard the sound of our voices. Why didn’t he come to see 
what we were doing? Perhaps he did not want to leave Listrac. 
He may have wished to remain with him to the last. That surprises 
me a little, however, for 1 never thought he had a very deep affec- 
tion for him.” 

Consequently, when Chantal reached the clearing, he was not a 
little amazed to find that Moulieres had disappeared. 

“What if he has gone to call the gendarmes?” he muttered. 
“ Ko, he must certainly \\ish to avoid them it possible. He must 
have made good his escape. But this much is certain: Listiac is 
dead, for he is still lying where he fell.” 

Ohantal approached the body and found Listrac lying upon his 
back, w ith his arms extended, his face frightfully distorted, and his 
hands clinched. 

The bullet had hit him in the right side, a little above the waist, 
and had undoubtedly severed some large artery. Chantal, merely 
for humanity’s sake, wished to see if the count was beyond human 
aid, so he placed his hand upon the prostrate man’s heart, but found 
that it had ceased to beat. 

“ if Moulieres has gone for a doctor he will have his labor for his 
pains ” he said to himself. “Monsieur de Listrac has no further 
need of one, and there is nothing to keep me here. 1 ought to re- 
port to the authorities of Vi lie d’Array, perhaps, but they would 
probably detain me all day, and 1 would much rather return to 
Paris with Dartige and his betrothed. When we arrive there 1 will 
go to a magistrate of my acquaintance, and tell him the whole 
story. He will indicate the course we must pursue to avoid the 
unpleasant consequences 1 apprehend. I shall perhaps be blamed 
for abandoning the body, but it was Moulieres’ duty to remain with 
It, and he has rushed off so hastily that he has even forgotten to pick 
up the pistols. What is the use of doing that, however? They 
will substantiate my testimony, and it is perhaps best to leave them 
here after all. 

“And Dartige, too, has forgotten his overcoat. It is cold this 
morning, and he will need it. 1 had better take it to him.” 

As he stooped to pick up the garment his friend had throwm upon 


I THE PEIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAHD. 12 ? 

the grass Chautal saw the wallet and pocket-book which w^ere lying 
j close by it. 

“ Oh, ho!” he muttered, “ here are spoils which might tempt the 
first native that happened to pass this way. This wallet has every 
appearance of being tilled to overflowing with bank-notes. 1 wish 
I Moulieres had taken charge of it, I am sure 1 don’t care to. It 
won’t do to leave it here, though. Some one will be sure to steal 
it, and in that case 1 should be, to a certain extent, responsible for 
the theft. 1 had better take it and place it in the hands of the 
magistrate to whom 1 intend to state all the particulars of the duel.” 

Having come to this conclusion Chantal pocketed the purse and 
wallet, threw Daitige’s overcoat over his arm, and hastened off to 
rejoin his friend. 

He overtook Dartige and his betrothed just as they were beckon- 
ing one of the coachmen to come and meet them with his carriage. 

” ^Vell, how do you feel, mademoiselle?” be asked. 

” Quite comfortable, though terribly tired,” replied Andrea. ” I 
hardly know whether 1 can stand the ride in the cars or not.” 

” Hesides, it is not necessary for people to see your arm tied up 
in a bloodstained handkerchief. 1 am of the opinion that it would 
be much better to drive back to Paris in this shabby caleche. 1 will 
try to induce the coachman to take us.” 

Daitige, who had not yet regained his wonted composure, was 
only too glad to leave all the arrangements to his friend, and the 
bargain was soon concluded. The coachman, liberally paid, cheer- 
fully agreed to drive the party to the Rue Bourgogne, and even 
volunteered some information about Moulieres, who had driven off 
to the station with all possible speed in the same carriage that had 
brought him. 

“ Yes, and he did not even stop to pick up the purse and wallet 
his friend had thrown upon the ground,” remarked Chantal. ”1 
took charge of them to prevent them from being stolen, and also of 
your overcoat which you will need, as the air is quite keen,” he 
added, laying the garment upon Albert’s lap, for they were now 
driving briskly along the road to Paris. 

” What are you going to do with the purse and wallet?” inquired 
Dartige. 

‘‘ Turn them over to a magistrate with whom 1 am well ac- 
quainted — a gentleman named Darcy. You very probably know 
him, too, at least by reoutation. 1 judge that this wallet contains 
a good round sum, for living as he has been living for the past few 
days Listrac must have carried all he possessed about with him. 1 
think 1 had better see.” 

‘‘ What! you think of opening the wallet?’' exclaimed Dartige,. 
in evident disapproval. 

” Only to take an inventory of its contents,” replied Chantal, 
drawing it from his pocket. ‘‘ Why not? 1 shall not tamper with 
tbe contents. I only want to know what there is in it.” 

The carriage was rolling along the rugged road near Sevres, and 
the coachman, whose attention was engrossed by his horse, did not 
turn to see whai his passengers were doing. 

Dartige averted his eyes. He did not care to look at an article 
that had belonged to the man he had just killed. 


128 


THE PimiA DOXNA S HUSBAND. 


Andrea, on the contrary, lifted 'ler veil, and watched Chantal’s 
movements with singular attention. 

“ 1 was not mistaken,” that gentleman remarked, on opening I he 
wallet. “ Here is a large roll of thousand franc-notes, probably 
what remains of the sum he extorted from his wife before his de- 
parture for London. And here is a note from Moulieres, four lines, 
dated this morning. Moulieres reminds the count that he is to be 
at his, Moulieres’, rooms at nine o’clock, and informs him that the 
duel is to be fought between eleven and twelve o’clock, near the 
lake at Ville d’Avray. This will serve to prove that a duel had 
been agieed upon, and that Monsieur de Listrac was not drawn into 
a trap. ” 

“ i do not understand why you tamper with a dead man’s 
papers,” said Dartige. “ Shut up the wallet, 1 beg.” 

” 1 haven’t the slightest objection to doing so. 1 have seen 
enough.” 

” Will you show me the note you just mentioned?” asked Andrea, 
eagerly. 

This request greatly astonished both the gentlemen. 

“ 1 have not the slightest objection,” replied Chantal, ‘‘ but why 
are you so anxious to see it? 1 have just told you the contents.” 

With her right hand, the only one she could use, Andrea drew 
from her bosom a medallion which she wore suspended from a 
chain about her throat, and handing it to Dartige, said: 

‘‘ It is my father’s porirait. Press the spring you see projecting 
from the setting.” 

Dartige obeyed, and saw that there was a small bit of paper that 
had grown yellow with time behind the portrait. 

‘‘Unfold the paper,” Andrea continued, “and compare the 
handwriting with that of Monsieur de Moulieres’ note.” 

“ They are identical in every respect,” her lover replied, after 
complying with the request. 

“ 1 was sure ot it. My instinct rarely deceives me,” said the 
young Italian. 

“ But will you have the goodness to explain? What conclusion 
do you draw from this resemblance, which, by the way, is incon- 
testable.” 

“ 1 conclude from it that it was Moulieres wdio murdered my 
father.” 

“ Your father!— 1 do not understand.” 

“My father w^as assassinated fifteen years ago in P^lorence by 
some person who had written requesting him to meet him at mid- 
night on the Quai de I’Arno. That letter is in your hands, and 
God at last permits it to serve as the means of discovering the mur- 
derer that the authorities of my native land were unable to find.” 

“ This is a proof, in fact, but 1 doubt if it would be considered 
eutficiently conclusive. It will be necessary, in the first place, to 
establish the authenticity ot this letter, which should have been 
made public before,” remarked Cliautal. 

“ i was only an infant w^hen my father died,” Andrea explained. 
“ It was my grandmother who preserved this letter and intrusted it 
to my keeping the day 1 left Florence.” 

“ Will you, in turn, intrust it to me for a few hours? I should 


THE PRIMA DOHKA’S HUSBAND. J2'J 

like to show it to a magistrate 1 intend to call upon as soon as I 
' reach Paris.” 

' “ 1 will call on him with you,” replied the girl, evidently unwill- 

ing to part with the letter. 

1 ” Thai would be out of the question, mademoiselle. You torget 

I that you are wounded, and in any case it would be much better for 
you to wait until the magistrate sends for you.” 
j ”1 think so, too,” added Dartige. 

‘‘1 will wait, then, but please give me back the portrait and 
letter.” 

” Here they are, mademoiselle,” replied Chantal. ” Guard them 
I with the utmost care, and trust to me for the rest.” 

The rest of the journey was made in unbroken silence. 

One does not feel inclined to talk when one has just killed a 
: man, even though the man be a wretch utterly unworthy of pity, 
and Chantal was considering the possible consequences of this duel, 
which, though it had been conducted with perfect fairness, had 
nevertheless been irregular in some respects; such, for instance, as 
the absence of a physician, and the flight of Moulieres, and Chantal 
apprehended a judicial investigation, or at least a frightful scandal, 
i The carriage had passed the harriere when Chantal remarked: 

‘‘ 1 told this coachman to drive to the Rue Bourgogne, but, of 
<;ourse, mademoiselle will not wish to alight there. You had better 
, take her home first.” 

“ That is what 1 intended to do. Will you not accompany us?” 

“No, 1 must see Darcy without a moment’s loss of time. He 
will be at bis office at this hour of the day, and as I see a carriage 
•stand over there 1 am going to hire one to take me straight to the 
Palace of Justice.” 

And without waiting for his friend’s reply, Chantal called to 
the coachman to stop, and sprung out, leaving Dartige alone with 
his betrothed. 

The magistrate he intended to call upon was a man of the world, 
o, magistrate of the old school, wealthy, independent, and intelli- 
gent. He was a bachelor, and had seen enough of society to under- 
stand certain phases of Parisian life. Though considerably older 
than Chantal they had been schoolmates, and were still on the best 
of terms, though they had not seen very much of each other since 
they left the university of Charlemagne— M. Darcy to follow the 
same profession his father had followed before him, and Chantal to 
spend his income in the most agreeable manner. 

Chantal found the magistrate in his office as he had predicted. 
He even had the unexpected good fortune to find him alone. 

” What good wind has blown you here?” inquired the magistrate, 
offering a hand to his visitor. 

” 1 wish to consult you upon a very serious matter.” 

“You have chosen a very good time, i have no one to examine 
to-day. What is the matter?” 

“ 1 have just acted as second for one of my friends who has 
killed his opponent.” 

“ That is not such a terrible thing nowadays. Years ago you 
would- both have been sent before the Court of Assizes, but our 
jurisprudence has been considerably modified of late, and it not 


130 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


iinfrequently happens that there is no invesiigatioh in such cases; 
that is, ot course, if we have no reason to suspect any foul play. 
A.nd there was none, of course, in the present instance. Where did 
the duel take place?’' 

At Yille d’Avray.’' 

“Yille d’Avray is in Seine-et-Oise, and if you have trouble it 
will be with the authorities of Yersailles. That being the case 1 
can do little or nothing for you, as 1 am not acquainted with the gov- 
ernment attorney of that department. But you will get safely out 
ot the scrape, never fear, for your friend, of course, is an honorable 
man liKe yourself.” 

” Strictly honorable. My friend is Albert Dartige, whom you 
must have met. fie Was once secretary of legation at Yieniia, and 
subsequently at St. Petersburg.” 

“ 1 remember him well. Why did he fight?” 

” Because he struck his adversary in the face.” 

“ Then he was the aggressor. That is a pity I” 

” He can not be blamed, however, for Listrac insulted him first.’*' 

“ Listrac! Do you mean the Count de Listrac, the husband ot 
Clara Monti, who committed suicide at the The^tre-Lyrique last 
evening?” 

” The same. I see that you are familiar with the unfortunate 
woman’s story.” 

‘‘ All Paris knows it. I know, too, why she poisoned herself. 
Her husband extorted a large sum of money from her on false pre- 
tenses, and then had the audacity to show himself, last evening, at 
the opera, in a box with her rival. No one will bemoan his fate. 
He got only his deserts; that is, unless Monsieur Dartige was 
Madame de Listrac’s lover.” 

” On the contrary, he was about to marry a 'protegee of hers, a 
young Italian lady. And, by the way, 1 must finish my confession. 
This young lady was so foolish as to follow us, without our having 
the slightest suspicion of the fact. It seems she suspected that her 
betrothed was going to fight a duel, and so concealed herself in the 
woods to witness it.” 

‘‘ Indeed! She must be something of a heroine!” 

” She was punished for her folly, however. The count, though 
mortally wounded, managed to fire at his adversary; and the bullet 
intended for Dartige wounded the young lady in the arm. It was a 
mere scratch, however, and she returned to Paris with us.” 

” Why, this is quite a romance!” 

‘‘ On the contrar.y, it is a true story, as the wounded girl is ready 
to testify, and to prove by showing you her injured arm. Still, 1 
fear this strange incident only complicates the aflair — nor is this 
all—” 

” What else have you to tell?” asked the judge, frowning slightly. 

” Only tliat we lost our senses — Dartige especially. We were so 
much alarmed about the young lady whom we supposed much more 
seriously injured than she really was, that instead of notifying any 
of the local authorities of the facts, we hastened off to Paris, leav- 
ing the body.” 

“You did very wrong,” said M. Darcy, gravely. “But Mon- 
sieur de Listrac’s second did not abandon him, of course?” 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 131 

“ His second left before we did, though he had not the same ex- 
cuse for his hasty departure.” 

” That is singular. 1 may as well tell you that you and your friend 
will doubtless be called to an account for your conduct. Monsieur 
de Listrac’s second will also be summoned.” 

“ There will be no difficulty about finding him. He is very well 
known a<^ the clubs. His name is Moulieres, and he has been quite 
intimate with Listrac for some time.” 

” Moulieres!” repeated the magistrate. “ It seems to me 1 have 
heard the name before.” 

” That is not surprising. The gentleman is very extensively 
known.” 

‘‘ But I have a dim recollection of seeing it in some police report, 
or in some case 1 was investigating. But how did you happen to get 
mixed up in a duel with two such notorious characters?” 

” Dartige is a particular friend of mine, and 1 could not refuse to 
assist him.” 

” This friendship will perhaps cost you dear. Moulieres is quite 
capable of declaring that Monsieur de Listrac was murdered; and 
the fact that the body was abandoned will give some weight to the 
charge.” 

‘‘ I have thought of all that. You are of the opinion that 1 had 
better surrender myself to the authorities, are you not?” 

” Not yet. Let me first state the case to some one who can tell 
us all about the antecedents of these gentlemen 1 refer to -the Count 
de Listrac and Moulieres, of course.” 

M. Darcy wrote a few lines, rang the bell, folded his note, and 
handed it to the messenger, who appeared in answer to the sum- 
mons. 

‘‘ You will say that the case is very urgent, and that I am wait- 
ing,” he remarked. 

The messenger bowed, and hastened from the room. 

‘‘ Now, my dear Chantal,” resumed the judge, ” 1 can not say 
what my colleague at Versailles will do, but though you and your 
friend Dartige have gotten yourself in a bad scrape 1 trust that your 
excellent reputations will protect you; and 1 will try to furnish you 
with the means to establish the worthlessness of the people with 
whom you were associated. But, unfortunately, Clara Monti’s 
suicide is the great topic of the day, and as people will very natu- 
rally suppose this duel to be in some way connected with that, undue 
importance will probably be attached to it, and consequently you 
may expect any amount of annoyance.” 

” 1 do expect it,” replied Chantal, coldly, “ and, in order to re- 
lieve myself of one responsibility 1 assumed, 1 will now surrender 
to you this article that I picked up near Monsieur de Listrac’s body.” 

” A wallet!” exclaimed M. Darcy, in astonishment. 

And a purse. 1 hope you do not suspect me of having stolen 
them. The purse centains gold, and the wallet contains bank- 
notes, and some letters about which 1 would like to speak to you.” 

“ I do not consider myself authorized to receive them,” said the 
magistrate. 

‘‘ And 1 will not keep them. You can send them to the Versailles 
authorities, if you think proper; only, I warn you that there is a 


132 


THE PEIMA DOHHA’S HUSBAND. 


letter from Moulieres in the wallet— a letter that is of no importance in 
itself, but which may serve to clear np a mystery of long stand- 
ing-” 

Just then the door opened, and a man, whose appearance struck 
Chantal very forcibly, entered the room. Eyes of wonderful clear- 
ness and penetration illumined the regular features of this gentle- 
man, in whom Chantal mstanlly recognized a prominent member of 
the detective corps. M. Darcy greeted him with marked deference, 
and motioning him to a seat beside him, said politely: 

” I am very sorry to be obliged to trespass upon your valuable 
time; but 1 am anxious to obtain some information of great impor- 
tance to one of my particular friends. Monsieur Chantal here.” 

The official bowed, with a quick glance at Chantal, then replied: 

1 have the honor of knowing the gentleman. 

“ Oh, by name and reputation only,” he added, noting ChantaPs 
movement of surprise. “ The surveillance of all gaming establish- 
ments was lormerly one of m7 duties.” 

“ 1 have never played except at the clubs,” said Chantal. 

” 1 am aivare of that sir; but the clubs were also under my super- 
vision. There is scarcely one of them in which some much to-be- 
regretied episode or altercation has not occurred. The club to which 
you belong is certainly one of the most respectable in the city; and 
yet 1 could name several members whose antecedents are anything 
but reputable.” 

” Tlie information 1 wish to obtain from you relates to two mem- 
bers of this club,” said M. Darcy. 

” Yes, the Count de Listrac, and Monsieur de Moulieres,” replied 
the new-comer. ‘‘ At least, those were the names mentioned in the 
note with which you honored me.” 

“Yes; and your records probably give you a pretty correct idea 
of the moral character of each.” 

“Ceitainly. The record concerning Monsieur de Listrac covers 
only the past year, as he led an irreproachable life up to that time.” 

” But since?” 

” He has since become infatuated with a very dangerous widow, 
and it was undoubtedly on her account that he left the wife whose 
suicide is creating so much talk just at this time. It seems, too, 
til at he extorted large amounts of money from her. He persuaded 
her to pay the debts he contracted in his stock speculations, besides 
extorting money from her by means unworthy of any honorable man. 
The crimes he has committed, however, are not those the law 
reaches. He has not stolen, nor has he cheated at cards, though he 
may come to that sooner or later.” 

” Ho; for he is dead. He has just been killed in a duel.” 

” So much the better for him,” said the official, philosophically. 
” He might have come to a much worse end. As for Moulieres, he 
is an adventiirei of the worst type, and we have had an eye on him 
for a long time; but he is very shrewd, and has thus far succeeded 
in keeping out of the clutches of the law.” 

” What are his antecedents?” 

‘‘ He was born in Marseilles, and his real name is Margolin. After 
getting into several scrapes m his native town, he went to Italy to 
seek his fortune. As he was well educated, and quite gentlemanly 


THE PRIHA DON^TA’s HUSBAKD. 


133 


in appearance, be succeeded in workins: his Tv^ay into fashionable 
society there, thoiifi^h he was secretly connected with a company of 
gamblers who carry on their trade in the clubs of our large cities. 
He made a good deal of money in this way, and came to Paris about 
fifteen years ago, with quite a fortune. 

“ On his arrival here he changed his tactics completely, and 
entered into a secret partnership with a former broker, named 
Menager; and the two have since practiced usury with great suc- 
cess. Moulieres devotes his attention to looking up customers. 
As soon as any member of his club becomes embarrassed, by rea- 
son of losses at the gaming-table, Moulieres sends him to Menager, 
who divides the profits with the sender. Ihe gentleman’s friends 
do not suspect that he carries on this business. He is very popular 
in the circle in which he moves, and he has even won quite a repu- 
tation as a lady’s man. He has long been the devoted friend of the 
fascinating widow 1 spoke of just now, and, as she is wealthy, I 
think he intends to marry her if possible.” 

“ Is she not the widow of a worthy native of Normandy, who 
was killed in a duelv” 

“ Yes, sir; and she, too, figures in the records of our office. Be- 
fore she became a widow she was implicated in a criminal case — the 
murder of a young woman who lived in the same house with her, 
and who was found one morning dead in her bed.” 

‘‘ 1 recollect; but Madame de Benserade was neither accused nor 
even suspected of the crime.” 

” She was not accused of it, for there were no proofs against her; 
but the chief of the detective service w^as satisfied that the crime was 
committed by the baroness The culprit was never discovered, and 
the investigation was long since dropped.” 

‘‘ Then it would be useless to reopen it now; besides, this woman 
does not seem to be involved in the matter upon which 1 wish to 
consult you. Moulieres acted as Monsieur de Listrac’s second in the 
duel, and Monsieur Chantal was his opponent’s second, and there is 
some danger that the authorities may decide to prosecute, for the 
affair was not conducted in strict accordance with the usual custom. 
For instance, the victim was left where he fell.” 

‘‘ 1 am not surprised to hear that, for Moulieres was probably in a 
hurry to inform the baroness of Listrac’s death.” 

” Then you think he went there?” 

” 1 am almost positive that we should find him there at this very 
moment; and, if you think Monsieur Chantal and his friend have 
any real danger to apprehend from Moulieres and the baroness, 1 
can easily avert it by intimidating this sharper and this unscrupu- 
lous baroness. 1 shall only have to allude to their past, to accom- 
plish it.” 

” Will you permit me to ask if, in the record of Moulieres’ life,, 
you have seen any mention of a sojourn in Floience?” Chantal in- 
quired, hastily. 

‘‘ He spent the winter of ’69-70 in that city, but left it very sud- 
denly to take up his abode in Paris, though no one could explain 
why he decided to abruptly quit a place where he had been extraor- 
dinarily successful.” 


134 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


“ 1 know. He hart murdered an llalian artist, and was anxious 
to make his escape without loss of time.’' 

“ 1 think 1 know the case to which you refer. The artist’s name 
was Yitellio, and he had accused Moulieres of cheating at cards. 
But the Italian authorities did not suspect the latter of the crime.” 

“ They did not see what I have seen; a letter that proves him the 
culprit beyond any possibility ot doubt.” 

‘‘ A letter?” 

“Yes; one that was sent to the unfortunate Yitellio, to lure him, 
at night, to the lonely spot where he met his death. The letter 
bears no signature, but the handwriting is exactly like that of a note 
written by Moulieres to his friend Listrac this morning— a note 
•which was in the wallet that 1 picked up at the scene of the duel, 
and that 1 have just laid upon Monsieur Darcy’s desk.” 

“ Have you the other letter, the one addressed to Yitellio?” 

“ No; but 1 know where it is, and 1 can show it to you whenever 
you please.” 

” Still 1 can not threaten Moulieres with arrest for a crime com- 
mitted fifteen years ago,” replied the detective. 

“ Perhaps not,” rejoined Chantal, “ but you can certainly compel 
him to admit that the duel was fairly conducted in every respect, 
and that it was Listrac himself who imposed the conditions. And 
after he has given this testimony, you can surely compel him to 
leave France, in company with Madame de Benserade— if he 
chooses.” 

“ 1 see no objection to that,” remarked M. Darcy. 

“ Then 1 will set to work,” responded the detective. “ I will 
only ask Monsieur Chantal if he has any objections to telling me 
who is in possession of the letter addressed to Yitellio?” 

“ It is in the hands of his daughter, Andrea Yitellio, who will 
soon be the wife of my friend Dartige, and who now resides at No. 
41 Quai Yoltaire. If you wish to see her — ” 

“ Y'our word is sufficient, sir. 1 am going straight to the house ot 
jVladame de Benserade, as his honor, the judge of instruction, seems 
to have no further need of me.” 

“ Not at present,” replied M. Darcy; ” but you know 1 can not do 
without you long.” 

“My dear friend,” the judge remarked to Chantal, when they 
were once more alone together, “ 1 am now compromised to some 
extent, at least, in this unfortunate affair, and 1 shall do my best 
to get you out of the scrape. You, your friend Dartige, and the 
young Italian lady, may all expect to be examined, and 1 hope that 
you will tell the whole truth. I also hope that Monsieur de Mouli- 
eres will not dare to perjure himself. But I utterly fail to under- 
stand your intentions in regard to him and the Baroness de Bense- 
rade.” 

“ 1 want the scoundrel to marry the infamous creature, so they 
can go and end their days together in a foreign land, as people of 
their stamp are likely to end their days.” 

“ That will be Clara Monti’s revenge.” 


THE PRIMA DOKNA'S HUSBAND. 


135 


CHAPTER X. 

On the morning of the duel, Juliette de Benserade rose at the- 
usual hour, ordered her coachman to be ready to drive her to the 
Bois at three o’clock, and sat down to breakfast about noon, with 
an excellent appetite. 

Although she felt almost certain that Listrac and Dartisre intend- 
ed to fight that morning, the fact did not impair her appetite in the 
least, though we must do her the justice to say that she had not the 
slightest idea that her lover would be killed, tor she knew that he 
was an excellent shot, and the scandal that the duel would be sure 
to create rather pleased her than otherwise. 

She very rarely read the papers, but being anxious to know what 
was said about the performance at the The^tre-Lyrique the evening 
before, she picked up the Figaro,” and the first thing upon which, 
her eyes fell was a brief account of Clara Monti’s suicide. 

Her surprise and emotion were so intense that she overturned the 
cup of tea she had in her hand. 

“Dead!” she murmured. “Then George is free!” 

That was her first thought. Not one pang of compassion, not a 
single regret for the poor woman she had driven to this desperate 
deed. She rose, saying to herself as she did so: 

“ Had 1 known this, 1 would have prevented the duel.” 

All the advantages she might reap from George de Listrac’s wid- 
owhood had been duly considered long ago. He bad nothing to 
give her now, but his name, perhaps; but that was something. She 
knew him thoroughly, and felt sure that to regain the means of lead- 
ing his former luxurious life, he would be willing to marr}^ almost 
any woman, no matter how unattractive she might be; but she knew 
that he loved her with a love that had caused his own undoing, and 
that he would not hesitate to brave certain prejudices for her sake. 
She foresaw that he might attempt to impoverish her, as he had im- 
poverished Clara Monti, but she felt confident of her ability to pro- 
tect her rights. It was all very well for a love-sick Italian to allow 
her wealth to be wrested trom her, fragment by fragment, but Juli- 
ette de Benserade justly considered herself incapable of any such 
weakness. And even if she should be compelled to resort to a sep- 
aration to maintain her rights, she would still remain the Countess 
de Listrac, and so would have no cause to regret the armorial design 
now emblazoned upon her carriages. 

The news agitated her so deeply, that, instead of finishing her 
breakfast, she went out into the garden, newspaper in hand, to 
walk otf her uneasiness. 

“ I certainly am in luck!” she said to herself. “ George will not 
be killed. What it 1 should go to his rooms and wait for him? 
But no; if there should be any duel, Moulieies would certainly act 
as George’s second, and whatever the result may be, Moulieres will 
certainly lose no time in reporting to me; so the best thing 1 can do 
is to wait as patiently as 1 can.” 


136 


THE PRIM A DOHHA’s HUSBAI^-D. 


And she did wait, consoling herself for this enforced delay by 
roseate dreams of the future. 

Moulieres came at Jast, and found her sitting near the door of the 
conservatory, in the very spot where she had spoken to Clara Monti 
for the first and last time about a month before. 

“ 'Well?” she asked, springing up eagerly. 

Moulieres saw by her expression that she had mistrusted all, so, 
nej^lecting all his carefully-prepared preliminaries, he replied sim- 

ply: 

Well, he is dead.” 

“ Killed by Dartige?” 

“Yes. He fell upon his knees ; but he had strength enough left 
to fire. The bullet missed its mark, however, and he died without 
uttering a word. ” 

“ And you left him there?” 

“ Yes; and 1 did very wrong, for his opponent and the seconds 
will probably be prosecuted. 1 shall be blamed for leaving him, 
unquestionably; but he was beyond all human aid, and it was nec- 
essary to inform you without delay. 1 was anxious that you should 
be in a position to decide upon your future course as soon as possi- 
ble.” 

“ My decision is already made, for 1 thought it quite likely this 
might happen, and even if George had lived, 1 was resolved to 
break the ties that bound me to him, and regain my liberty,” re- 
plied the baroness, unblushingly. 

“ But what use do you intend to make of this liberty?” 

“ Enjoy it. 1 am rich, and 1 can live to suit my own fancy, 
"Without asking any favors of any one. 1 shall sell this house where 
1 am bored to death, and purchase another near the Bois de Bou- 
logne, where 1 can entertain my friends,” 

“ Your friends? Do you suppose that you have any friends left?” 

“ Plenty of them.” 

“ You aie very much mistaken, my dear. After what has oc- 
curred, no one will visit you.” 

“ Why? Merely because the Count de Listrac has been killed in 
a duel, and because he quarreled with his wife who afterward com- 
mitted suicide?” 

“ Ah! so you know that?” 

“ 1 saw it in the newspaper this morning.” 

“ And you liave no idea that both these tragical deaths will be 
attii billed to your influence! Then you must know very little about 
Parisian society. It is very lenient, it is true, but its tolerance has 
its limits. As soon as a woman causes a startling scandal, every one 
unites in pointing the finger of scorn at her, and all Paris saw you 
last evening gazing down in triumph at the diva, who poisoned 
herself from sheer despair.” 

“ All Paris saw you as well as me. You were with me, recol- 
lect.” 

“ Oh, I do not natter myself that 1 shall escape public censure. 
1 comnromised myself to please you, and 1 shall have to share 
the disgrace with you. 1 know very well that 1 shall have to leave 
the club. If I do not resign m}^ membership voluntarily, my name 


THE PRIMA DO]Sr]S’'A'S HUSBAND. 137 

will be erased from the list of members, and 1 shall hove anything 
but a pleasant lime oi it if 1 attempt to remain in Paris.” 

” Then you tliink of leaving the city?” 

” Most assuredly 1 do. 1, too, am rich, much richer than you 
are, my dear Juliette; but here my wealth would not save me from 
slights and rebuffs. 1 shall spend it in some foreign land ; and 1 
would advise you to do the same. There are cases in which exile 
becomes a positive necessity.” 

‘T do not look at the matter as you do. Besides, it is very easy 
for you to talk, but ivhat would become of a lone, unprotected 
woman in a foreign land?” 

“Toil need nol be alone. 1 should be very glad to accompany 
you as your husband.” 

“ 1 should not gain much, and might, perhaps, lose a good deal, 
by such an arrangement.” 

“ What could you possibly lose?” 

“ Why, all 1 possess. The husband is Chancellor of the Ex- 
chequer; all the money is at his disposal.” 

“ Not when the wile’s property is settled upon herself.” 

“ Clara Monti’s was.” 

“ You are not Clara Monti, any more than I am George de Lis- 
trac. Clara Monti was madly in love with her husband, alid 1 have 
no expectation of turning your head. You have always been a good 
friend to me, but 1 have never inspired you with what is called a 
passion. Besides, Listrac gambled desperately, both at the card- 
table, and in stocks. 1 never gamble; my fortune is intact, and 1 
am not obliged to live upon my wife’s money.” 

“ Then why do you wish to marry me?” 

“ Because in union there is strength. Apart, we should be only 
wanderers and exiles; married, we should be Monsieur and Madame 
de Moulieres, wealthy capitalists, who would have the entree of 
the best society in Austria or Russia. We would commence by 
feeling our way, that is to say, we would travel until we found 
some country in which our reception would be sufficiently cordial 
to induce us to take up our permanent abode there. Having de- 
cided on our place of residence, we would then purchase a large 
estate or chateau near the capital, and live there in royal style.” 

“ Thanks, but 1 hate the country,” said Mme. deBenserade, curtly. 

“ 1 found it intolerable during my first husband’s life, and 1 have 
no desire to try it again.” 

“ Very well, 1 understand. You refuse me.” 

“ 1 prefer to remain as 1 am.” 

“ You have a perfect right to do so, of course.” replied Moulieres,. 
drvly. “ I shall not try to marry you against your will, and as you 
think yourself able to dispense with my protection, 1 shall allow you 
to protect yourself, and shall content myself with telling you that 
we are about to be subjected to an ordeal tor which, i am sure, you 
aie wholly unprepared. I am expecting to be called before the 
authorities of Versailles at any moment. They will examine me in 
regard to the cause of this duel which resulted so fatally to one of 
the parties engaged in it, and 1 shall tell them the truth. You, too, 
may expect to be called upon to give an account of your connection 


138 THE PRIilA donna’s HUSBAND. 

witli Listrac, aod in that case, your position will be anything but 
enviable.” 

“ While if 1 were Madame de Moulieres, 1 should be the wife of 
ian adventurer. My position would be no better, it seems to me,” 
was the sneering reply. 

“ So you insult me!” he exclaimed, pale with anger. 

“You insulted me first,” replied the baroness, now thoroughly 
exasperated. 

Moulieres was about to depart with rage in his heart, when a foot- 
man appeared in the garden, closely followed by a gentleman who 
seemed to have forced his way in sorely against the servant’s will. 

The baroness, more and more incensed, stepped forward with the 
very evident intention of taking the servant to task, and curtly dis- 
missing the intruder, but the stranger met her half way, and said, 
bowing gravely: 

“ Madame, 1 have called at the request of Monsieur Darcy, Judge 
of Instruction.” ^ 

The baroness changed countenance, and hastily motioned the 
valet to leave them. 

Moulieres, who had heard the remark, picked up his hat as if 
preparing to make his escape; but the stranger said to him: 

“ Remain, sir. 1 have business with you, as well as with 
madame.” 

“ That is hardly probable. 1 do not know you.” 

“But 1 know you perfectly well. You are Monsieur de 
Moulieres, and you were the intimate friend of the Monsieur de 
Listiac, who has just been killed in a duel. Indeed, you acted as 
his second.” 

“ i do not deny it. Now who are you?” asked Moulieres who 
had already regained his wonted assurance. 

“ It matters little who 1 am,” replied the stranger, “as 1 just 
told you that Monsieur Darcy, a judge of instruction, sent me here. 
That piece of information should be suflScient, it seems to me.” 

“ Very well,” retorted Moulieres. “You have come to question 
me in regard to the particulars of the duel, 1 suppose?” 

“ 1 have no authority to question you. I merely called in obedience 
to orders, to talk with you and this lady about Monsieur de Listrac’s 
death, and also about another matter. The conversation will not 
be a lengthy one, and we can conclude it without leaving the garden. ” 
The stranger had emphasized the words in obedience to orders, and 
the two culprits realized that they were in the presence of some 
officer of the law. 

“As you please, sir,” replied the baroness, trying to make the 
best of it. 

The stranger was now standing between M. de Moulieres and the 
baroness, who were both in a very uncomfortable frame of mind. 

“ Sir,” he began, turning to Moulieres, “you will be summoned 
before the Chief of Police at Versailles to-morrow.” 

“ I shall present myself before him without waiting for a formal 
summons,” was the response. 

“ 'lhat is what you had better do, for when you leave here, you 
will be followed by two detectives who have been detailed to watch 
over you.” 


THE PKIMA DOKHA'S HUSBAND. 


139 


“What! ami taken for a common malefactor?’^ asked Moulieres^ 
insolently. “ The duel was conducted fairly, and 1 lead an honor- 
able life.” 

“ Is it considered honorable in Paris to be the partner of a usurer, 
and to share the profits of his business with him?’’ 

“Sir!” 

“Oil, you need not feign indignation. 1 can give you bis name 
and residence: Menager, Hue Godot de Mauroy.” 

“ I know this person. He has loaned me money, but 1 defy you 
to prove that 1 have an interest in his business.” 

“ It will not be a dirficult thing to prove, however, if Menager is 
examined. Still, that is not the question just now. But as for be- 
lieving that you have borrowed from him! Konsense! you have 
made enough in Italy and elsewhere, not to need any more.” 

“ 1 do not understand you.” 

“ You will very soon. Y"ou certainly have not forgotten a certaiu 
Monsieur Margolin, of Marseilles, who won so much money in Flor- 
ence about fifteen years ago.” 

Moulieres turned as pale as death. 

“1 see that you recollect him,” continued M. Darcy’s deputy, 
“ and we know perfectly well what became of this Margolin who, 
only a tew days after a certain tragical event, suddeirly disappeared 
from the city where he had been successfully operating so long. 
An Italian artist had been mysteriously murdered in the street. 
The perpetrator of the crime was not discovered, however. He took 
refuge in Paris, and is still here.” 

“ What possible object can you have in telling me this story?’^ 
stammered Moulieres. 

“ 1 tell it so that if you should happen to know Margolin’s pres- 
ent whereabouts, you can warn him that a letter has recently been 
discovered which implicates hirr deeply — the letter the unknown 
assassin wrote to Yilellio, asking him to meet him at midnight, in a 
lonely spot— and we now have conclusive proof that this letter is in 
Margolin’s handwriting.” 

Moulieres was livid; and Mme. de Benserade, who was watching 
him closely, seemed to enjoy his evident discomfiture intensely. 

“ Y^ou might add,” continued the visitor, “ that he will make a 
great mistake in considering himself safe because the crime is out- 
lawed. It is true that he could not be prosecuted for a crime com- 
mitted in 1869, but as he has recently been mixed up in a most un- 
fortunate affair, there is sure to be a careful inquiry into his an- 
tecedents, and he will be treated accordingly. If 1 were in his place, 
1 would leave the country without dela 5 ^” 

“ And so would 1,” said the baroness, in a cruelly ironical tone. 

“ 1 am happy to learn that you agree with me, madame,” resumed 
the stranger. “ When one has not a clear conscience, one should 
keep out of the way of the authorities of one’s country. Our 
officials make mistakes sometimes, and get upon the wrong scent; 
but it sometimes happens, too, that after mouths and years, they 
hit upon the right clew and reopen an abandoned investigation. 
For example, three or four years ago— perhaps longer, a young 
woman residing on the Rue de 1’ Arcade was stabbed in her bed.” 

Juliette gave a sudden start. 


140 THE PKIMA HUSBAHD. 

“ Pardou me, madame, did 1 jostle you? This walk is so very 
narrow.” 

“ JSo, no, it is nothing,” replied the baroness. 

” Then 1 will go on with my story. Quite a number ot persons 
'were arrested, the maid-servant — the maicl-servan; ’s lover, a scoun- 
drel ot the lowest kind— their innocence was incontestable. Tiie 
lover of the victim was also arrested. He was a gentleman of fair 
reputation, and widely known in Paris. He proved that he was 
not the perpetrator of the crime, and not long afterward, he was 
killed in a duel precisely as Monsieur de Lislrac has just been killed. 
The investigation was finally dropped, but. 1 have always been sat- 
isfied, in my own mind, that the detectives looked in the wrong 
direction, and that it was a woman who dealt the fatal blow — a 
woman of wealth and position. No one even suspected her of the 
crime, but it takes such a trifle to arouse sleeping justice. If this 
woman still lives— she is at the mercy of the merest chance. If she 
should do anything that would attract attention to her, or if she 
should get herself talked about, her past would of course, be 
thoroughly sifted, and for that reason, if she is a prudent woman, 
she will get across the frontier as quickly as possible.” 

“ But that would be equivalent to a confession of guilt,” stam- 
mered the baroness. 

” Bah! when it is a question of saving one’s life, or escaping im- 
prisonment for life, one should not be too particular. When this 
woman is once out of France, no one will demand her extradition. 
The ofiense was committed so long ago that it is well-nigh forgot- 
ten.” 

” But to return to the duel. Monsieur de Moulieres, who served 
as one of the seconds, will certainly be examined, and so very prob- 
ably will you, madame. You knew Monsieur deListrac intimately, 
and are doubtless in a position to furnish valuable information 
regarding the origin of the quarrel that cost that gentleman his life. 
Still, as you took no part in the affair, as soon as you have told ail 
you know, 1 think no one will oppose your departure, should a de- 
sire to travel seize you. Later, however, it will perhaps be very 
different. Take my advice, and profit by the fine weather that is 
just beginning. Do not go to Italy — it is too warm there, already 
— and Monsieur de Moulieres could not join you there— but Switzer- 
land is charming in the spring.” 

The three had walked slowly along one of the paths as they talked, 
and they were now near the gate which separated the garden from 
the Kue de Monceau. 

” There is nothing left for me now, madame, but to take leave of 
you— and of this gentleman,” the stranger said, in conclusion, paus- 
ing suddenly. 

“ If this is all you had to say to us, your visit was a waste of 
time,” growled Moulieres. 

‘‘ No; for 1 feel positive that you will profit by it— and whether 
you follow it or not, 1 have ceitainly given you some good advice, 
as you will admit, sooner or later. 

‘‘ So, madame and monsieur, I have the honor to bid you good- 
day.” 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 141 

And with this polite coinoionplace, the man turned upon his heel, 
and departed as quietly as he had come. 

“He is certainly mad/’ murmured Mme. de Benserade, to re- 
assure herself. 

“ By no means,” replied Moulieres. “ On the contrary, 1 think 
him very sensible, tor he regards our situation in exactly the same 
light that 1 do. Paris is no longer tenable for either of us.” 

“ What?” 

“For 3 ’-ou, more especially, my dear friend,” he continued. 

The little episode our a^rreeable visitor just related to us, occurred 
on the Rue de T Arcade, near the Madeleine, and only a few squares 
from the Palais de Justice. Many persons recollect it— 1 among 
others.” 

“ As persons in Florence remember the Marseillais, Margolin, prob- 
ably.” 

“ Margolin no longer exists.” 

“ lie has changed his name, but not his skin.” 

“No more than you have. And you would have made a great 
mistake in so doing, for you have a lovely complexion. As for the 
name, will 5^011 not consent to bear mine, now?” 

“ Which? The real or the fictitious one?” 

“Neither. 1 have money enough to purchase a foreign title. 
You shall be neither Madame Margolin nor Madame de Moulieres; 

you shall be the Countess or the Marquise of , no matter what. 

Our marriage will be none the less valid on that account.” 

“Not in London or St. Petersburg, perhaps.” 

“Nor in France, tor that matter. As soon as we have selected 
our place of residence, we will be married there in the presence of 
the French Consul, and after we are legally united, the past will be 
forgotten.” 

“ If 1 could be sure of that!” 

“ Try it. I have no desire to force myself upon you. Leave 
France alone. Go wherever j^ou please, and 1 will join you as soon 
as the tnreatened irvestigation is satisfactorily concluded— as it will 
be — for we shall have no difficulty in proving that the duel at Yille 
d’Avray was fairly conducted. 

“ If 3 ^ou select Vienna, I will go to Vienna; and if you decide, as 
1 hope you will, that we were intended for each other, you will 
marry me. But 1 wish you to do it of your own free will; and I 
shall allow you plenty of time for reflection before binding your- 
self.” 

' ‘ 1 do not refuse upon these conditions. But how can 1 leave 
immediately?” 

“ What is there to prevent? The only real estate you own, 1 be- 
lieve, is this house, and your lawyer can soon dispose of this for 3 ^ 011 , 
while you can easily convert your ready mone 3 ’' into a bill of ex- 
change upon a Vienna banker. That is what 1 shall do with mine 
when the time comes for me to bid a final farewell to my native 
land.” 

“ ITou are in no haste to leave it, it seems to me.” 

“ On the contrary, 1 am in great haste to leave it; but 1 can not 
do so until the investigation is ended. You heard what that man 
said?” 


142 


THE PEIMA DOHHA'S HUSBAND, 


“Yes; and 1 wonder who he can be?” 

“ A prominent and remarkably well-informed member of the de- 
tective corps, evidently. He came to give us a warning we should 
do very wrong to neglect; nor did he give this warning without 
being duly authorized to do it. This means that the authorities are 
not anxious to bring up these old matters, but that they will not 
tolerate our presence here.” 

“ In short, perpetual exile is before us; a not very cheerful pros- 
pect, by the way. 1 shall resign myself to it, of course, it need be; 
but 1 don’t understand why ] should be obliged to leave any sooner 
than you do.” 

“ Merely because ten years have not elapsed since you resided on 
the Rue de T Arcade,” replied Moulieres, with a searching glance 
at the baroness. 

Juliette started violently. She was beginning to realize that 
every crime must be expiated sooner or later, and that her past pre- 
vented her from having any other ally than this sharper and assassin. 

“ Take my advice,” he continued, “ and do not wait until after 
Clara Monti’s funeral. All Paris will be there; and among those 
who follow her to the grave there will be not a few who would be 
glad to set fire to your house after the obsequies. You will not be 
safe until you are on the other side of the frontier.” 

“ Very well,” replied the baroness, sullenly. “ I will leave Paris 
to-morrow.” 

“ Where will you go?” 

“ 1 haven’t the slightest idea.’^ 

“Will you wait for meat Zurich— at the Hotel Baur— on the 
lake?” 

“ Perhaps so.” 

“ 1 hope to be there in a week. 1 will accompany you to the rail- 
way station to-morrow. 1 must go to Versailles now. The visit 
must be deferred no longer.” 

•’ Are you sure that you will be allowed to return?” 

“ If 1 am detained by the authorities, 1 will inform you of the 
fact. But I shall not be forcibly detained, for in that case it would 
be necessary to arrest Monsieur Dartige and Monsieur Chantal as 
well, and they are too well and favorably known for any severe 
measures to be taken against them. I’his evening 1 will report to 
you and 1 venture to hope that in six months you will be my wife.’' 

Mme. de Benserade hung her head, but made no reply. She felt 
that she would be obliged to consent sooner or later, and she dimly 
foresaw the future that awaited her as the wife of a scoundrel who 
would treat her as Listrac had tieated Clara Monti; but overtaken 
b}" this strange fatality she no longer had courage to struggle against 
her destiny. " Por the fiist time in her life it occurred to her that 
Jehovah’s justice sometimes overtakes culprits in this world before 
punishing them in the other. She did not pity her victims; she felt 
no repentance for what she had done, but she "was afraid. 

And she had cause to tremble, for marriage is the most terrible of 
chastisements for some women. 


THE PEIMA DOKJs^A S HUSBAi^^D. 


143 


EPILOGUE. 

On a beautiful June day, fifteen months after Clara Monti's 
death, a young and beautiful woman, escorted by two gentlemen, 
and preceded by three guides, was ascending the rugged road lead- 
ing from the inn at Montauvert to the Mer de Glace. 

They had left the Royal Hotel at Chamouni that morning, to 
make this excursion, which is considered obligatory upon all tour- 
ists who visit Switzerland, and they were now nearing the goal. 
They could already catch occasional glimpses of the celebrated 
glacier on the lett, and above them, through the pines, the hotel re- 
cently built upon the edge of the frozen torrent, opposite the im- 
posing Aiguille du Dm, was plainly visible. 

One of the gentlemen rode by the lady’s side, and the tender 
glances they interchanged seemed to indicate that they were a newly 
married couple. The other gentlemm followed them closely, and 
kept up a running fire of lively sallies. 

“ 1 must say that so far as ice is concerned, 1 would greatly pre- 
fer one of Tortoni’s to all this here,” he remarked, laughing. 

That is much nearer the boulevard, and one can enjoy it in a 
comfortable seat, while these accursed saddles are so many instru- 
ments of torture. Besides, there are too many of her Britannic Maj- 
esty's subjects in William Tell’s valley. 1 am sure we shall find two 
or three dozen of them up there.” 

” 1 do not look at them,” replied the lady in the same laughing 
tone. ” 1 can see only Albert; and so they will not prevent me 
from enjoying this sublime scenery.” 

‘‘ Can it be that you have no poetry in your soul, my poor Chan- 
tal?” added the husband. ” Last evening, for fear of taking coM, 
you would not leave the inn to contemplate the summit of Mont 
IBlanc, gilded by the last rays of the setting sun, and to-day the most 
beautiful view in all Switzerland fails to arouse the slightest enthu- 
siasm in your breast.” 

“ 1 shall admire it more after 1 have breakfasted, perhaps; but 1 
am positive that it will not compare in beauty with the view of 
Florence from the heights of Fiesole. And 1 am sure that your 
wife is of the same opinion.” 

” That is true; but 1 am not an impartial judge. 1 like Florence 
best because I was born there, and above all, because 1 was married 
there.” 

” Then Dartige must be of the same opinion.” 

“ 1 always think as Andrea does.” 

”Ah, you are fortunate mortals! And to think how 1 used to 
sneer at wecyded bliss. ISince 1 have been traveling with you, 1 
begin to long to get married myself. 1 hardly know myself.” 

” We had to pay dearly for our happiness,” sighed Andrea; 
” and it would be much more complete if godmother were with us.” 

” The fact is, she made a great mistake in killing herself on the 
-evening of the first performance of ‘ Romeo and Juliet.' Had she 


144 


THE PRIMA DOiTHA’s HUSBAND. 


waited until the second evening, she would have been a widow; 
and then she would have been better reconciled to life, perhaps.’' 

“ "What pleasure can you find in reviving these sorrowful memo- 
ries?” interposed Dartige. 

” Pardon me, my dear friend, it was not 1 who first alluded to 
the subject. Besides, all’s well that ends well. Your most ecstatic 
dreams of happiness are fully realized; and the wretches who killed 
the poor countess have all been punished.” 

” Kot all. Her husband is dead, it is true; but how about the 
others?” 

” Moulieres and Madame de Benserade? Their fate has been even 
worse. They have become partners in vice; and it is not difficult to 
foresee what will become of them.” 

“ 1 did hear that they had married in some foreign land, but — ” 

“ What! is it possible that you can not see how the marriage will 
end? Moulieres will want to get rid of his wife some day or other. 
After he has obtained possession of all her property, he will kill her; 
and this time he will not escape the gallows.” 

” Here is the hotel!” exclaimed the lady, with an evident desire 
to cut short a conversation that reminded her of her father’s murder 
and the suicide of her benefactress. 

The parly had reached the cliff overlo(>kjng the Mer de Glace, and 
the waiters were already rushing out to invite the travelers to alight 
and take breakfast before visiting the glacier. 

Ohantal, who had not much taste for arduous expeditions, insist" 
ed that they should breakfast first, and Dartige and his wife con- 
sented on condition that he would allow them time to admire the 
view before seating themselves at the table. As he consented to this 
arrangement, they left him in order to approach the edge of the 
moraine, while Chantal, who was sadly wanting in enthusiasm, 
walked straight into the hotel, where he began an examination of 
the register in which strangers not only inscribe their names, but 
very often extremely ludicrous comments upon the grandeur of the 
scene before them. 

While he was engaged in this examination, a gentleman and lady, 
of whom he caught only a hasty glance, passed him on their way 
out of the hotel. 

As Chantal turned from the register to give the order for break- 
fas^ the lady re-entered the hotel alone, approached the register 
which Chantal had left open upon the desk, and hastily wrote a few 
words. 

She had no sooner done this than she turned to go away, and 
Chantal thought he must be dreaming when he saw her face. It 
was that of Mme. de Benserade, only she looked at least ten years 
older than when he saw her last. {She looked at him for an instant, 
but probably did not recognize him, for she passed quietly on. 

“ Do you know who that lady is?” he inquired of the major- 
domo who was awaiting his order. 

“A very wealthy Austrian countess who arrived here last even- 
ing with her husband and two servants. They drink only cham- 
pagne of the finest quality— we have all the best brands. Monsieur 
has only to choose, Moet, Clicquot—” 


I THE PEIMA DONJS^a'S HUSBAJ^'D. 145 

“ We will decide that presently. That is the lady’s husband with 
i her, is il not?*' 

“ ITes, sir. They are going to make an excursion to the glacier 
without guides. The count seems to be a very peculiar man. Only 
this morning he was talking of going alone with his wife as far as 
the Jardin. But I represented to him that the road was too danger- 
ous and 1 hope he will be content with a visit to the crevasses. 
Will monsieur now order breakfast?” 

” Give us anything you happen to have,” said Chantal, brusquely, 
for all his interest in that meal had suddenly deserted him. 

This unexpected meeting had taken away all his appetite; besides,, 
he wondered what the consequences would be it Dartige and his 
wife should suddenly find themselves face to face with this Aus- 
trian count and countess, whom he so strongly suspected of having 
changed not only their name but nationality. 

He had not seen the husband, so he ran to the window to catch a 
glimpse of him, if possible. The window overlooked the glacier, 
but the couple had walked quickly, and they were now at the foot 
of the moraine, and too far off for Chantal to distinguish their faces. 

Just then Dartige and his wife came in, and Andrea asked to be 
shown to a room in order to arrange her toilet a little. 

” Have you seen any one you know?” Chantal asked, as soon as 
he was alone with his friend. 

“ Do you suppose 1 have been amusing myself by staring at the 
passers-by? 1 have had eyes only for the marvelous scene before 
me.” 

” jMarvelous it is unquestionably, but not so marvelous as find- 
ing Monsieur and Madame de Moulieres here.” 

” What do you mean?” 

” 1 recognized the lady perfectly, but 1 am not so sure about the 
gentleman. Stay, you "have an excellent field-glass. Hand it to 
me, 1 can see my man distinctly now. It is Moulieres. He has let 
his beard grow, but he has not been able to change his hooked 
nose.” 

Dartige looked through the glass in his turn, and then said: 

” Yes, you are right; and the lady he holds by the hand is cer- 
tainly Madame de Benserade. What are they doing here?” 

” They have come to spend their honeymoon possibly, though, to 
judge from appearances, it is not a very blissful one. The former 
baroness wears a very rueful visage. One would think that she was 
afraid of her husband.” 

” Where is he taking her?” 

” To some part of the glacier which prudent tourists never visit 
without guides, I believe.” 

“The path seems to be a very difficult one. See, they are dis- 
appearing now behind that enormous block of ice. I did not sup- 
pose that Moulieres was so venturesome.” 

“ He perhaps has his reasons for making this perilous excursion. 
But 1 am curious to know what he calls himself now. His name 
must be on the register. Let us go and see.” 

Chantal led Dartige to the reception-room, and the two friends 
began to examine the register. 

” Good!” Chantal exclaimed, at last, ” he is aPrussian now. This 


146 


THE PRIMA donna’s HUSBAND. 


certainly caps the climax. Here it is, written in German, too. See: 
Graf und Grafin von Weissbach — Count and Countess de Weiss- 
bach. What do you think of that?” 

“ 1 think, with you, that this caps the climax. But see, there are 
a few lines, written in J’rench, under it — the translation of the title 
perhaps.” 

” It was not Moulieres who wrote them there, but his wife. She 
returned for the express purpose. Let us see what she says to travel- 
ers. Ah! the deuce! 1 thought as much!” exclaimed Chantal, push- 
ing the book toward Dartige, who read: 

” If I should not return from the excursion my husband compels 
me to make, it will be because he has thrown me down some preci- 
pice. My will, which makes him my sole legatee, will be found in 
his pocket.” 

"‘It is signed Juliette,” continued Chantal. “ She knows that 
Moulieres wishes to get rid of her, and though she has not the cour- 
age to resist him, she has done this in order that her death may be 
avenged.” 

” But we must inform the proprietor of the inn, so he can send 
guides in pursuit of the wretch.” 

“ And if the Benserade should be mistaken, a nice scrape we 
should get ourselves into by our false accusation. Let us first see 
where they are,” said Chantal, returning to the dining room win- 
dow. ‘‘Give me your glass a moment. 1 do not see them now. 
What has become of them? Has the crime been committed already? 
No, there they are, just where the river of ice makes a curve. In 
another moment they will be lost to view. The lady does not seem 
to advance very cheerfully — the husband is leading her by the hand 
— where they are now, the persons who are crossing the glacier in 
front of the hotel can not see them, and Moulieres little suspects 
that I do not lose a single one ot his movements, thanks to your 
glass. Ah! the lady pauses— she can go no further. Her husband 
releases his hold upon her hand, to rest, also. After all, he has no 
evil designs perhaps.” 

” I told you so,” murmured Dartige. 

” 1 begin to think so myself,” replied Chantal, without ceasing 
to watch however. ” Juliette is leaning forward to look down into 
a crevasse probably. Now Moulieres, too, is stooping. He is try- 
ing to explain the theory of the glacier perhaps. Look, now he 
straightens himself up and passes his arm around her waist. The 
devil lake me it I don’t believe he is going to kiss her. It would 
be a charming tableau, but — good God!” 

” I saw two black specks a moment ago: but now I can see noth- 
ing. What has happened?” cried Dartige. 

“ Exactly what I predicted, but what Moulieres was totally un- 
prepared for. He pushed his wife down into the crevasse, but in fall- 
ing she clung to him, and now they are at the bottom of the abyss.” 

‘‘We must send some one to their assistance immediately.” 

Just then the proprietor entered. 

“A frightful accident has occurred!” cried Dartige. “That 
German count and his wife have fallen into a crevasse. Send some 
guides to their assistance.” 


THE PKIMA DONi^A's HUSBAKD. 


14? 


“ Guides can do nothing for them now, sir. The crevasses on 
tiiat side are hundreds of feet in depth, and never yield up their 
prey. The bodies will be found at the foot of the glacier twenty 
yeaVs hence. Still that makes no difference. 1 will send out a party 
of guides with ropes and ladders. Such accidents do us a great deal 
of injury. Stilly ttiere are plenty to testify that no one here at the 
hotel was to blame. The count would persist in going alone in spite 
of our protests, and in spite of the entreaties of his countess, the 
servants told me.” 

“ Don't stop to talk, but call the guides,” interrupted Chantal. 

** Are you going to tell your wife?” Chantal asked, when he was 
again alone with his friend. 

“ Heaven forbid! She is too excitable. She would be sure to 
have an attack of hysterics.” 

” Then we nad better return to Ohamouni directly after break- 
fast. She will hear of the event, but she will not know that her 
father's murderer has met with the fate he deserved. You can tell 
her after we have returned to France. Hush! here she comes.” 

”1 am ready. Y’ou have decided to cross the Mer de Glace, 1 
hope,” Andrea remarked, as she approached them. 

” 1 can not say that 1 am very anxious to do it,” replied Chantal. 
“ It has just swallowed up a German family — husband and wife. 1 
should fancy that 1 was treading upon their lifeless bodies.” 

” A husband and wife! Oh, that is horrible!” exclaimed Andrea, 
with an eloquent look at Dartige. ” Let us leave this place, Albert. 
1 willl not remain here a minute longer.” 

Dartige was equally anxious to leave the scene of the catastrophe, 
but Chantal, who was nearly famished, insisted upon having break- 
fast, and they were obliged to gratify him. 

It was not a cheerful repast by any means; and when our friends 
resumed their journey the guides had not succeeded in recovering 
the bodies. 

But that evening, at Chamouni, every one was talking of the ac- 
cident at Moniauvert, and a rumor was already current that the 
Countess von Weissbach had been pushed into "the chasm by her 
noble husband, for upon the hotel register had been found written 
proofs that she suspected the fate that awaited her. 

M. and Mme. Dartige returned to Paris, and nothing has since 
occurred to mar their happiness. 

Chantal, encouraged by their example, thinks strongly of getting 
married himself. 

Clara Monti rests in Florence, where her compatriots have erected 
a magnificent monument to her memory. 

Moulieres and Juliette de Benserade will have no sepulcher but 
the glacier 

They left no heirs, and their ill-acquired wealth will revert to the 
goverrlment. 

But there will always be sharpers and adventuresses in Paris, and 
all will not end so badly. 

The kingdom of the righteous is not of this world. 


THE END. 


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246 A Fatal Dower. By the author 

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247 The Armourer’s Prentices. By 

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248 The House on the Marsh. F. 

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249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

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250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

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251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 

Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
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252 A Sinless Secret. By “ Rita ”. . 10 

253 The Amazon. By Carl Vosmaer 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair but 

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255 The Mystery. By Mrs. Henry 

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256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

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258 Cousins. By L. B. Walford 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. (A 

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260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 AFair Maid. By F.W. Robinson 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

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262 The Count of Monte Cristo. 

Part II. By Alexander Dumas 20 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 


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264 Piedonche, A French Detective. 

By Fortund Du Boisgobey 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures. 

By William Black 15 

266 The Water-Babies. A Faii-y Tale 

for a Laud-Baby. By the Rev. 

Charles Kingsley 10 

fi67 Laurel A^aue; or, Tiie Girls’ 
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5168 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 
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269 Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

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272 The Little Savage. By Captain 

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273 Love and Mirage ; or, The Wait- 

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274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

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275 The Three Brides. Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 

Florence Marryat (Mrs. Fran- 
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277 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 


jMrs. Henry Wood. A Man of 
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278 For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 

279 Little Goldie. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 


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280 Omnia Amanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 10 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary 

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282 Donal Grant. By George Mac- 

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283 The Sin of a Lifetime. By the 

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284 Doris. By “ The Duchess ” . .. 10 


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288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 

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290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

291 Love’s AA^arfare. By the author 

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292 A Golden Heart. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne”... 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

294 Hilda. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

295 A AA^oman’sAA’^ar. By the author 

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296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly. By the author 

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298 Blitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 

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299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea. By the author 
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300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
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301 Dark Days. By Hugh Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

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303 lugledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By the author 
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304 In Cupid’s Net. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

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306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

Day. By the author of “ Dora 
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307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
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308 Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

310 The Prairie. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

R, H. Dana, Jr 20 

312 A AA’'eek in Killarne3^ By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

313 The Lover’s Creed. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 15 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill. ... 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

316 Sworn to Silence ; or, Aline Rod- 

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317 By Mead and Stream. Charles 

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818 The Pioneers; or, The Sources 
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319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

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320 A Bit of Human Nature. By 

David Christie Murray 10 

321 The Prodigals : And Their In- 

heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

m A Willful Maid 20 

324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

325 The Portent. By George Mac- 

donald 10 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. By 

George Macdonald 10 

!}27 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 
the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell 20 


328 Babiole, the Pi'ett}' Milliner. By 
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328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 
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829 The Polish Jew. ByErckmann- 

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330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

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331 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price.. 20 

332 Judith Wynne. A Novel 20 

833 Frank Fairlegh ; or, Scene? 

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336 Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 

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340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

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341 Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 

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844 “ The Wearing of the Green.” 

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845 Mada,ra. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

846 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

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847 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

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848 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

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350 Diana of the Crosswaj’s. By 

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351 The House on the Moor. By 

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352 At Any Cost. By Edward Gar- 

rett 10 

353 The Black Dwarf, and A Leg- 

end of Montrose. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 

355 That Terrible Man. By W. E. 

Norris. The Princess Dago- 
mar of Poland. By Heinrich 
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356 A Good Hater. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

357 John. A Love Story. By Mrs. 

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358 Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 

wick Harwood 20 

359 The Water-Witch. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 

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361 The Red Rover. A Tale of the 

Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

362 The Bride of Lammermoor. 

By Sir Walter Scott 20 

363 The Surgeon’s Daughter. By 

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364 Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 10 

365 George Christy; or. The Fort- 

unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 
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366 The Mysterious Hunter; or. 

The Man of Death. By Capt. 

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367 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20 

368 The Southern Star ; or. The Dia- 

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369 Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 

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370 LucyCrofton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

371 Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oli- 

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372 Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 

thor of “ His Wedded Wife 10 

373 Wing-and-Wing. J. F^imore 

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374 The Dead Man’s Secret; or. The 

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dent. By Dr. Jupiter Paeon.. 20 

375 A Ride to Khiva. By Capt. Fred 

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Guards 20 

376 The Crime of Christmas-Day. 

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Knoll. J. Fenimore Cooper. . 20 
881 The Red Cardinal. By Frances 
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382 Three Sisters*, or, Sketches of 

a Highly Original Family. 

By Elsa D’Esterre-Keeling. . . 10 

383 Introduced to Society. By Ham- 

ilton Aide 10 

884 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor. Capt. Fred Burnaby. 20 
185 The Headsman; or, TheAbbaye 
des Vignerons. By J. Feni- 
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38&:.Led Astray ; or, “La Petite Comt- 
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387 The Secret of the Cliffs. By 

Charlotte French 20 

388 Addie’s Husband; or. Through 

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389 Ichabod. By Bertha Thomas... 10 

890 Mildred Trevauion. By “ The 

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891 The Heart of Mid-Lothian. By 

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392 Peveril of the Peak. By Sir Wal- 

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393 The Pirate. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

394 The Bravo. By J. Fenimore 

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395 The Archipelago on Fire. By 

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397 Lionel Lincoln; or. The Leaguer 
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898 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. 
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399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. . 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. 

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401 Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

402 Lilliesleaf; or. Passages in the 

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403 An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 

ridge 20 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

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405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

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406 The Merchant’s Clerk. By Sam- 

uel Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

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409 Roy’s Wife By G. J Whyte- 

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412 Some One Else. Ey B. M. Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

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415 The Ways of the Hour. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

417 The Fair Maid of Perth ; or, St. 

Valentine's Day. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

418 St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 20 

419 The Chainbearer ; or. The Little- 

page Manuscripts. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

420 Satanstoe; or. The Littlepage 

Manuscripts. By J. Fenimore 
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421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 


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422 Precaution. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

423 The Sea-Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 

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425 The Oak Openings ; or. The Bee- 

Hunter. J. Fenimore Cooper. ^ 

426 Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 

worth Taylor 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., M.P., 
formerly known as “ Tommy 
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428 Z^ro: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell Praed 10 

429 Boulderstone; or. New Men and 

Old Populations. By Wiliam 
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430 A Bitter Reckoning. By the 

author of “By Crooked Paths” 10 

431 The Monikins. By J. Fenimore 

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432 The Witch’s Head. By H. Rider 

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433 My Sister Kate. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne,” and A Rainy June. 

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434 Wyllard’s Weird. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

435 Klytia: A Story of H<ddelberg 

Castle. By George Taylor.. . . 20 

436 Stella. B3’ Fanny Lewald 20 

437 Life and Adventui*es of Martin 

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438 Found Out. Helen B. Mathers. 10 

439 Great Expectations. By Clias. 

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440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings. By 

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441 A Sea Change. By Flora L. 

Shaw 20 

442 Ranthorpe. By George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of The Albany. . . 10 

444 The Heart of Jane Warner. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

445 The Shadow of a Crime. By 

Hall Caine 20 

446 Dame Durden. By “ Rita ” 20 

447 American Notes. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c. By Chas. 
Dickens — . . 20 

449 Peeress and Player. By Flor- 

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450 Godfrey Helstone. By Georgiana 

M. Craik 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 

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452 In the West Countrie. By May 

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453 The Lottery Ticket. By F. Du 

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454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood. 

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455 Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

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457 The Russians at the Gates of 

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459 A Woman’s Temptation. By 

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460 Under a Shadow. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 20 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
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465 The Earl’s Atonement. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
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466 Between Two Loves. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
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467 A Struggle for a Ring. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
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468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad, 

of a Sewing-Girl. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley 10 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
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470 Evelyn’s Folly. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

471 Thrown on the World. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 

By William Black 10 

473 A Lost Son. By Mary Linskill. 10 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel. 

By George Ebers 20 

475 The Prima Donna’s Husband. 

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I 79 Madcap Violet (small type) 10 

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242 The Three Feathers 10 

390 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart Id 

568 Green Pastures and Piccadilly l(f 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times 20 

1025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

1264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 1C 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556^ Shandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
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MISS M. E. BRA.DDON^S WORKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Levels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

- 114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

, 254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit 2'' 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

469 Rupert Godwin 20 

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481 Vixen 20 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

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519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

019 Taken at the Flood 20 

041 Only a Clod 20 

049 Publicans and Sinners 20 

056 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

065 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

066 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery = 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

Sll Dudley Carleon . . .• 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf. 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune. 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 20 

1915 The Jilistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss ^ 
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CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

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396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

311 The Professor. • 10 


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